Whither thou goest
by NancyMay
Summary: Jack has finally followed Phryne, with a little help from a surprising source. They now need to get home, but as with all things involving Phryne it won't be straightforward. This started out as a one shot 'miserable Phryne without Jack' story, but, after a period of writer's block I think I may have the beginnings of a multi chapter. I shall update as I can.
1. Chapter 1

So often she had sat like this; on a window seat, gazing out of the window with a whisky in her glass, but this time the scene was different. No longer the sunny street of St Kilda, the raggers drawing up, now she looked out over a garden with a soft blanket of snow, tips of hibernating plants the only things showing. The road was slushy but in the dark a few cars swished past and a few people trudged back and forth. There was warmth in the room from the fire burning in the grate but there was a heavy, almost cold, feeling in her heart.

"Phryne?"

"Hm? Oh, mother," she unfolded herself from her seat, "sorry, it's late ..."

"Are you alright, love?" Margaret touched her arm, "you seem very quiet tonight."

"I'm fine," she shook off the loneliness, "just thinking about my friends, wondering what they are doing."

"It's Christmas, darling, they're probably out partying, or in - partying." her mother smiled.

"It's Christmas morning, mother," Phryne gave a little laugh, "I expect Jane is already awake ..."

"Ah, yes, of course ... well, I'm going to bed sweetheart, I shall see you in the morning." Margaret kissed the top of her head.

"Night," Phryne whispered, absent-mindedly.

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She had managed to get her father back to her mother before a divorce and the reunion had been sickeningly sweet. Henry had appeared contrite and Margaret had welcomed him with open arms after that, well Phryne didn't want to know, save that perhaps she got her 'appetites' from her mother. Things had settled down, the finances had been sorted and organised, the little house, if a terraced property in Belgravia with seven bedrooms could be called 'little', was comfortable and able to house the servants they needed and any guests they may invite. Phryne had a room on the third floor, it was large and housed a sumptuous double bed, a couch and small table, as well as the usual bedroom furnishings of a dressing table and large wardrobes and chest of drawers. It was tastefully decorated in creams and greens with heavy drapes at the windows to keep out any draughts.

The previous owners had thoughtfully added a small lift to the upper floors so if she were in a rush to access her room she didn't have to run up the stairs and arrive too out of breath to do anything but gasp. But she was never in a hurry to go to bed, not since she had arrived, there was no reason to hurry - he was back in Melbourne , thousands of miles away - she sighed heavily.

She drained her glass and decided she may as well head up the stairs. She passed the Christmas tree with piles of gifts under it, some for her and her parents, some for the guests that would join them for the following day - Guy and Isabella - some small tokens for the servants who had stuck with them through thick and thin. Christmas shopping hadn't given her the pleasure she usually got, this year. Gifts for Jane and her family back at Wardlow had been left when she flew away, not sure if she would make it back for the festive season, so she had spent some time trying to find something suitable for her mother and father. She hadn't been as extravagant as she could have been but had laughed when she found a new cravat for her father - laughed as she remembered Jack's declaration that evening - but it had been a hollow laugh. She had left his gift with Mr Butler, asking him to ensure that the Inspector wasn't left out of the celebrations.

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As she slowly climbed the stairs she decided she was a little bit cross with herself - for allowing him to steal her heart. Oh yes, she had, and still did, flirt with him, sometimes quite outrageously, but she never intended it to be more than a dalliance, in the first instance. And because he never bit, she carried on teasing him, irritating him, and flirting until it was she that was caught - hook, line and sinker - so, had he been flirting with her? Indeed he had, very cleverly, very subtly, intellectually and physically - Jack Robinson was a flirt of the highest order. Damn him!

Now, here she was, Christmas Eve and miles away from the one person she wanted to be with. Damn and blast her irresponsible father!

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Sleep didn't come easily, but when it did her dreams were unsettling. The closer she got to him the further away he seemed to be. When morning came she was more tired than when she had retired the previous evening.

Her maid, Louise, brought a breakfast tray and informed her that the dining room was being readied for the big meal of the day.

"Does that mean I can stay in bed?" Phryne yawned and took a sip of the coffee, not strong enough but it would do, cook would never understand her need for the dark, rich, beverage that, she was told, would strip paint - it wouldn't if made properly. Oh for Mr Butler!

"The Baroness said to tell you ..." Louise worriedly twisted her fingers, "... church is at ten-thirty and your presence is, er, expected." She blushed.

"Demanded, more like," Phryne huffed, "oh well, anything to keep the peace." She thought that perhaps, she should take a leaf out of Dot's book and invoke the assistance of the almighty in her ... whatever. Offer to be good, though she had been 'good' - for months. Only her fingers had relieved her frustration, and only just at that, no man had taken her fancy for some time.

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The church was crammed full of the regular worshippers and those that only came to praise the lord on high days and holidays, which made it warmer than usual. After a brisk, cold walk along the snow covered pavements, they had arrived and settled into a pew near the front. Phryne lost herself in the singing of the familiar carols raising her voice in harmony with the rest of the congregation and even managed not to yawn through the mercifully short sermon. As prayers were offered Phryne again found her mind wandering and channelling her 'inner Dot' she actually asked God to forgive her previous transgressions and would he mind very much helping her to find the man she loved more than any other she had ever met. She brushed away an errant tear, out of the corner of her eye - Margaret noticed.

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They stamped the snow off their boots and shook the new fallen flakes from their coats as they entered the house. The butler, Dawson, was there to take their coats and to let them know that hot chocolate with brandy was available in the parlour.

They sat there, warming their hands round the cups of the sweet beverage and waiting for their guests to arrive. The gifts they had bought each other had been unwrapped and thanked for; silk scarves and a pair of leather gloves for Margaret, the cravat and a book of wit and wisdom for Henry and for Phryne a cashmere scarf and an atlas with an inscription 'To my darling daughter, so you may never get lost, all my love, Mother. May the wind blow you safely to wherever home is.' Margaret knew that this place was not Phryne's home, that was somewhere else but wherever it was she wanted her to get there safely. Phryne understood the inscription for what it was and thanked her for it.

"I think I'll go and change for luncheon, mother," she stood up, "can't have Guy and Isabella thinking I have no style," she gave a little laugh.

"Of course darling, take your time, we have a couple of hours before we eat ..."

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She leant against the bedroom door and sighed. Pushing away she started to peel off the warm clothes she had worn for church and slipped a robe on over her slip. She sat on her bed and reached for the book she had absently-mindedly chosen from the library. A Dorothy L Sayers she had read before, but it passed the time.

She must have dozed off for she awoke to a gently tap on the door and a whispered, "Miss?" as Louise stepped through the door.

"Hm?" she blinked, "Louise ... have I overslept?"

"Not quite Miss," Louise went to take the dress she was to wear off the hanger, "but you're needed downstairs."

"Oh, Guy and Isabella, I suppose," she shrugged, Louise just nodded. "Right, let's get on with it." She shed her robe and stood in her undergarments. Her dress was navy blue velvet: faux wrap front with high 'v' neck, close fitting sleeves and a pleated skirt set just below the hip line and settling three inches or so below her knees. Some may say it was plain for her, but it was simply elegant and perfect for a cold Christmas day. She pinned the swallow brooch to the wrap front and stepped into matching blue mary-janes. Louise pinned a diamond and sapphire clip in her hair, shaped like a bow.

"Very nice, Miss," she nodded, "sophisticated, if I may say so."

"You may, Louise, and thank you," Phryne smiled, "now, before you go down, here's a little something for you. You have been such a help to me these past weeks." She handed over a little parcel, long and slim.

"Oh, Miss, you shouldn't have," she deftly and neatly unwrapped the paper to reveal a pair of smart cream kid gloves. "Miss Phryne!" she gasped, "these are too fine for me."

"Nonsense," Phryne waved her hand, "I noticed your gloves were a little well used, so ..."

"They're lovely, thank you so much, and - yes, my other gloves have been with me for some time," Louise smiled and re-wrapped them to take them to her room.

"Right, Louise, into the breach, dear friend," Phryne made a dramatic gesture and headed out of the door. Louise didn't understand but it made her giggle all the same.

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She could hear Guy's guffaws before she entered the parlour, probably laughing at one of his own silly jokes that were rarely very funny. She rolled her eyes in anticipation of a strained day.

He had his back to the door and over his shoulder she could see his wife, the airhead Isabella. Her flirting with Jack over the Marigold Brown case flitted through Phryne's mind but she dismissed it. Jack had taken no notice - not a jot - he preferred his women with a brain.

Isabella waved her over, "Hello there, Detective Phryne," she giggled, "any good cases lately?"

Phryne rolled her eyes and accepted a cocktail from Dawson before replying that she had just completed the biggest case ever.

"Ooh, do tell, Cousin," Guy's eyes widened with mischief, ready to take the mickey.

"She just solved a serious case of fraud ..."

The voice was so familiar she froze.

"... travelled half way round the world to prevent the crown from toppling ..."

Poetic licence - Henry's misdemeanours would never cause the crown to topple, but it shut Guy up. Guy tossed a look over his shoulder.

Phryne turned slowly ...

"Hello, Miss Fisher," he stepped into view and deftly took her glass before she dropped it.

"Jack?" she blinked and swallowed, "Jack?"

"You did say to follow you," he smiled.

"I know, but your letter said the Commissioner wouldn't let you," she placed her hand on his chest to be sure she wasn't imagining him.

"He wasn't going to but he forgot about Mrs Stanley being your aunt ..." he tipped his head in that way she adored.

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It had come to that, that Prudence Stanley had interfered in her niece's personal life, for once in the right way. Margaret had written to her and said that Phryne was not her usual self. No cutting remarks to her father, no joy in attending parties or dinners, so often to be found sitting on the window seat in the parlour gazing longingly out of the window.

"I really don't understand, Prudence," she had said, "this is not Phryne. She has stopped flirting, prefers a book to the company of an eligible bachelor ..."

Prudence sighed, it was obvious, and much as she deemed the relationship inappropriate, they were suited to each other, Phryne and the Inspector. She wondered if he had heard anything. Steeling herself she went to City South to speak to Jack.

His letters from her were not exciting, they lacked that certain je ne sais quoi he associated with the Lady Detective. No stories of cases she had interfered with, no frustration at her parents - just notes about the weather, the house maybe a new book she had found - always signed off with just 'Phryne', and in that he would hear a sigh.

"She did ask me to follow her, but I can't get the leave," he told the older woman, his worry taking the place of his usual reticence. "Though I haven't taken a holiday ..."

"Leave it with me, Inspector," she stood up out of the chair, "my sister is worried about Phryne and though, as you know, I have my reservations,

Phryne is what matters ..."

"Mrs Stanley ..."

"Pack your things, Inspector ..." she stomped out of the office.

And that was how he found himself jumping from country to country, by air, until he had alighted in England and settled himself at a small hotel on Christmas Eve.

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The rest of the room seemed to recede from view, there was only her and him.

"Happy Christmas, Phryne," he whispered and pulled her into a kiss somewhat reminiscent of the one on the airfield. Her one thought was that it had just got much better.

Just as she was wondering if she could drag him upstairs and have him ravish her senseless her father cleared his throat.

"Jack, m'boy," he stepped forward, "glad you made it, come and meet Margaret, I believe you know Guy and Isabella."

"Baron," Jack gave Phryne a quick squeeze, "we have met; Baroness, a pleasure," he took Margaret's hand and courteously bent over it.

"Likewise," she smiled, 'no wonder Phryne was moping around,' she thought, 'he's quite something.' "Thank you for the gifts you sent, most kind of you."

"Thank you for inviting me," he smiled.

Phryne pouted, there had been nothing for her but a Christmas card, but there again, his presence was more than she could have ever envisioned for her Christmas gift. As he withdrew his hand from her mother's she noticed he had the cufflinks she had had made for him, in the shape of handcuffs but made of white gold and diamonds, on.

"Now, Phryne," he turned and grinned, "don't worry I haven't forgotten you, but I rather hoped I would be able to give you your gift in person." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box tied with a blue ribbon.

"Jack," she hummed, turning the item round in her fingers.

"I hope you like it," he touched her arm.

She unwrapped it and found a box from her favourite jewellers in Melbourne. Inside was a small brooch, shaped like an aircraft encrusted with diamonds, the cockpit was an oblong cabuchon cut sapphire, a round garnet on the end of one wing and on the other end a similar cut emerald, the rotor was yellow gold. It was around the same size as the swallow brooch, exquisite, she was speechless. Not having the words to convey her delight she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him - thoroughly.

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Margaret saw her daughter brighten from the moment the Inspector's voice had wafted into the parlour - well, after her initial disbelief. Prudence had told her of the Inspector, how he and Phryne solved crime so quickly the criminals couldn't keep up. But she had also told of the connection between the two, a connection she had initially not encouraged but had come to see was the right one.

"He's a good man, Mags," she had written, "intelligent, well read, respectful. You'll like him, I guarantee it."

So Margaret had taken her sister's advice and between the two of them they had engineered a long leave of absence for Jack and Prudence had paid his travel costs, via air. Eleven days, but Margaret could see it was worth every penny to see Phryne smile again.

Dawson chose that very moment to announce that luncheon was served. Jack offered his arm to Phryne and they preceded everyone into the dining room. The table was set with shining silver cutlery and beautiful china, crystal that sparkled in the light of the candles set in rings of holly down the centre of the table. Place settings had been named and she realised that breakfast in bed was a ruse to stop her seeing that Jack's name card was next to hers. She looked at him - and smiled her wicked smile that had him know she was thinking much as he was. Those thoughts were not for polite society.

Luncheon - actually it was a little late for luncheon, but too early for dinner - was quite sumptuous and Phryne knew it would appeal to Jack, he had a good appetite. They started with a light consommé followed by smoked salmon mousse set on a bed of crisp salad leaves. There was a palate cleanser of lemon sorbet, tart yet sweet, served in a hollowed out lemon, and then the dish of the day - roast goose, with apple sauce, crisp roast potatoes, every sort of vegetable and gravy. Red and white wine flowed, though Phryne and Jack were almost abstemious, neither inclined to muddy the senses with a view to being quite clear in their needs later - or sooner - if Phryne had her way.

Dessert was the required figgy pudding, lovingly made by the cook weeks ago and allowed to soak in the regular helpings of brandy until she heated it up and served it with brandy butter, brandy sauce and Grand Marnier flavoured Chantilly cream. Dawson brought it in and set it before Henry, then poured over the warmed brandy so it could be lighted. Everyone raised a glass and wished the assembled company a Merry Christmas before setting their spoons to good use.

Conversation had been light, mainly confined to things that had happened that year, how Isabella and Guy were considering having a child ...

"We should, you know," Isabella simpered, "keep the Stanley line going."

Phryne inwardly winced at Isabella being a mother, Jack thought Phryne would make a better mother than Isabella but both just wished them well and commented that Mrs Prudence Stanley would be delighted to be a grandmother.

"Will you be returning to Melbourne?" Isabella asked Phryne, "in the New Year?"

"Oh yes," Phryne nodded, "it is after all where my home, and family, is."

Henry lifted his glass, slightly misty eyed, "To friends and family, wherever they are."

"Friends and family," the others echoed the toast.

"God bless them, everyone," Jack whispered.

"Softy," Phryne murmured.

"It's Christmas, Phryne, sentimentality is expected," he murmured back.

"Quite."

"How about a walk, after dinner, just you and me?"

She nodded and smiled, it could be blowing a howling blizzard but she would walk to the ends of the earth at this time, for him, with him ... to be with him.

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The light was going down as they stepped out into the frozen snow. Wrapped in a warm fur coat, Phryne slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his strong arm and they set off in no particular direction.

Lights from houses brightened their path as they strolled along in companionable silence. In a way she was still reeling from the shock of his appearance, and the idea that Aunt Prudence was the one to set everything in motion. She had no idea how high a regard her relative had come to hold him in, Jack - her friend, her partner, her soulmate.

"Where are you staying?" she broke the silence.

"Um," he swallowed, "apparently with you."

"Oh," she thought for a moment, "so you just arrived today?"

"Uh huh," he shook his head, "yesterday, I stayed in a hotel, not far, but my things should be at your parent's house, now."

She thought for a moment, "so, I've been hoodwinked?"

"In a way," he stopped and turned to look at her, "you have no idea how much you are loved, Phryne, in spite of everything you may believe, you are loved, by your parents, your aunt, your friends and Melbourne family ... and me."

He looked down, embarrassed at his admission of his love for her.

"Oh," she looked down, "I, er ... " love hadn't treated her kindly, in the past, but, even in those far off days, when Rene was off with some other woman, she had not felt as lost as she did without Jack. When Jack was away, off on his own track, she felt as if she were missing a limb, and lately ... she felt ... lonely, empty ...

"I know," it was if he read her thoughts, "and I understand." He turned her to face him, "I will never, ever, lay a hand on you in anger ..."

"Jack ..."

"Hear me out," he stilled her lips with his finger, "I love you, and I know that is not what you want me to say, but I do, and no matter what I do, I can't stop. I could retreat into Shakespeare, but these are my words ... I don't want you to change, to give up all you believe in, all you feel, I am yours, and yours alone, and if you don't want me, well, I shall take my leave of you, now, before we go any further."

Her eyes were wide and full of tears. She took off a glove and placed her bare hand on his cheek, chilled from the frosty air, yet it felt warm to her.

"Don't go," she whispered, "I can't promise anything, but I think I love you too. I've never really known what this kind of love is, but ... if it's what I've been feeling lately - lost, cold and empty, then I love you, John; call me Jack; Robinson, I love you, you have stolen my heart and I have no idea what the punishment is for that."

"Me neither," he smiled, "so, I guess we will have to find out."

"That will be quite the adventure," she leant into his chest.

"Indeed, Miss Fisher," he turned back in the direction of the house, "ready?"

"Ready," she nodded, surely.

It seemed contrived, at first, like they were arranging to go on a stake out, or break up a fight, but the closer they got to the house the surer they both felt.

"This way," she pulled him round the back of the house, "the back stairs ..." she giggled softly.

"Avoiding detection?" he raised an eyebrow, unseen in the dim light.

She shrugged, she had waited long enough.

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The sound of the gramophone and the conversation in the parlour covered the sound of their footsteps to the elevator from the first floor, having snuck in through the kitchen and following the route usually taken by Louise, Phryne was sure they would be undiscovered . They arrived at her room and dived in, closing, and locking, the door, breathless with anticipation and slightly giggly.

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Jack had vowed on his way over to England, that his first time with her would be a slow uncovering of her desires, and, much as it appeared she was prepared to rip his clothes off him and have him where he stood, that was not how it was going to be.

He took her coat and hung it with his on a hanger he took from the wardrobe. As he turned he saw her twisting to undo the clips down the side of her dress.

"Here," he strode over to her, "let me," he smiled gently, "there's no rush. I've travelled half way around the world for you, Phryne, I'm not going back anytime soon."

"Jack ..."

"Shh..." he touched the tip of her nose with his finger then leaned in to kiss it.

"Mmm ..." she hummed, leaning against him and tilting her head.

His touch was light as a feather as he slowly undressed her, nibbled his way down to her breasts then lifted her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed. He sat on the side and leant over her while he shrugged his jacket and waistcoat off. Phryne reached up and started on his tie and shirt buttons, all the while gazing into his soft, grey eyes. Under the shirt (and singlet) she found strong, well defined pectoral muscles, a light smattering of fine hair and a scar that looked like a bullet wound. She lifted her head and kissed it.

"A fellow soldier, shell shocked ..."

"Oh, I saw quite a few like that, in a haze thinking a friend was foe." Her faced clouded for a moment with the memories. "Bullet?"

"Bayonet tip, I was lucky ..."

"So was I," and he knew she meant that he lived for her to find, but he had to ask.

"You? Will I find some scars on you, too?"

"Maybe, perhaps you will have to conduct a thorough search, Inspector," she purred.

"Well, all in the interest of clearing up the matter," he shrugged.

She giggled, sighed, moaned and purred as he made his way over her body with his eyes, fingers and tongue, removing the remaining slip and cami-knickers. He rolled each stocking down her leg and every time he found the remnant of a beating or cut he kissed it tenderly. There were few that had all but faded to nothing, small scars from childhood falls or a beating from her drunken father but the only one that stood out was one about four inches long over her hip bone. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"A fight," she shrugged a shoulder.

"I see," he kissed it.

"I pulled knife on Rene," she pushed her fingers through his hair, "he had hit me, again, demanded I stop sitting for Pierre. I was the only one bringing in any money so I refused, that, and Pierre was kind to me ... well I'm sure you can guess the rest."

"I'm sure I can," he rolled to her side and pulled her close, "I hope we never fight like that."

"I think our fights will be much more interesting ..." she blew across his nipples, smiling to see them peak in the cold.

"I think that's a guarantee," he grinned.

They lay, naked and wrapped in each other's arms, kissing and touching. Jack pulled the covers over them, right over them so they were completely in the dark. His member pushed hard and hot against her thigh causing her breathing to hitch.

"Jack ..." she whispered, "please ..."

He slipped his fingers between her legs and found her wet and hot, she gasped as his fingers pushed against her sensitive spot and then into her. She lifted her leg over his hip and ground against him. He pushed her onto her back and settled between her legs then entered her slowly.

Phryne bit her lip as he started a rhythm and she bucked to meet it. She hadn't expected him to be anything other than traditional, missionary, but ... with the way he had slowly and gently undressed her, touched her and taken his time she thought there may be more to him, and this was only the start. She was right, he brought her to a height, but he didn't follow her. He allowed her a breath then rolled them over so she was looking down on him. She pressed her hands to his chest and stroked her thumbs over his nipples, leant down to kiss him then shifted her hips and started to slide up and down his hardness. He felt so good, inside her, filling her, stretching her. She sank down and felt his testicles against her. He pushed up, she fell forward then pushed herself up once more.

"Oh god, Jack," she ground down, again and again; he thrust up in tandem until they both shattered. She arched and flung her arms wide before falling utterly spent against his chest, slick with post coital sweat.

He stroked his finger up and down her spine and the fingers of the other hand threaded though her hair while he lifted his head to kiss her softly. She nestled against his chest and sighed a satisfied sigh while wondering how long this would last. He had said he wasn't going back 'anytime soon', but what did that mean. She hoped he hadn't given up his job for her, that was too great a sacrifice, but Aunt P had been involved ...

"Jack ...?"

"Hm?"

"How much leave do you have?" she shifted so she was looking at the underside of his chin, "I mean ... what did Aunt P do?"

"She had a word with the Commissioner's wife, I think," he moved so he was looking at her, "she insisted on paying for the journey ..."

"One doesn't argue with her ..."

"No, indeed. Anyway, by air, eleven stops, gets me here; how I get back is up to me, but it has to be before the end of March ..."

"Why March?"

"I shall have used up all my owed leave by then ..."

"Oh ... "

They fell into silence, Jack thought Phryne had fallen asleep and closed his eyes. The journey had been long and tiring, this day had started out with him worrying what she would say when she saw him and if she had really meant him to follow her, and then dinner, a walk, and love-making, he could do with a nap himself.

"Jack?" ideas had been forming in her head, "how do you feel about a tour of Europe, perhaps parts of the Middle and Near East ..."

"... ending, somehow, back in Australia?"

"Ah ha," she nodded against his chest. "Could be interesting ..."

"Could be dangerous ..." he mused.

"But I have my big strong policeman to look after me," she simpered.

He rolled his eyes.

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They spent the next few days holed up in the study, appearing for meals or to go for a walk. Margaret and Henry left them alone, mercifully, just glad to see their remaining child happy. Guy, on the other hand, kept trying to find out what they were doing and kept knocking on the door and calling through.

"Come on, old thing," he yelled, "what are you doing in there?"

Phryne rolled her eyes but declined to answer until one day she let out an almost orgasmic groan and an "oh, yes, Jack!"

In the study, Jack bit his lip to prevent the laugh as she winked at him.

"So, island hopping in Indonesia," he whispered, his finger on the map, "then I suppose we sail across to Darwin?"

Outside, Guy had his mouth open when Isabella passed him.

"Serves you right," she pushed his chin up, "what did you think they were doing? It's not as if we haven't used the desk in there," she grinned.

In the study Phryne agreed with his idea and placed her hand over his.

"Are you sure, Jack?" she murmured.

"Surer than I've ever been about anything lately," he pulled her close, "even coming after you."

She raised an eyebrow.

"It was a gamble, Miss Fisher," he nuzzled against her ear, "you could have been joking ..."

"I never joke about matters of the heart, Jack, as well you know," she pouted, "though I do admit it was an impulse, but ... I suppose as a romantic overture it did work."

"More than I could have hoped, now, Guy ..."

She laughed, "he should know me by now ...but, shall we confirm or deny his suspicions?"

He tipped his head, but, apart from the floor or the desk, there were only two chairs in the room ...

"Well, I don't think the leather writing pad would survive and it would be a shame to spoil it, but ..." he took her hand and led her to the rug in front of a roaring log fire, "this has possibilities."

"Lock the door," she smiled coyly, "Guy doesn't need that much confirmation."

The click of the lock was enough to start a coiling in the pit of her stomach and a warmth between her legs.

His hands travelled up under the soft cashmere of her sweater but over the fine silk of her camisole. She raised her arms and he lifted the garment off, draping it over the arm of a chair. She pushed his jacket off and started on his tie and waistcoat - honestly the man wore more layers than she did!

He nibbled his way down to her waist and unclipped her trousers, which she stepped out of, leaving her standing in her camisole, tap pants, stockings and garter belt. Her legs were beginning to weaken and when he kissed and tickled his way up her legs and rolled the stockings down she wasn't sure how long she would be able to remain upright. Her breath was coming in short breaths, her hands on his shoulders steadied her just enough but then he drew her pants down and blew, everso gently, between her legs and over her folds.

She shuddered, "Nngh!" she grunted, "oh ... my ... " words failed her!

He smirked and let her sink to join him on the floor.

He took her round the universe and back again, she climaxed at least three times, after that she lost count.

"You are far too pleased with yourself, Inspector," she stroked a finger across his forehead.

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her nose. "D'you think we've given Guy enough time to imagine what has been going on behind that door?"

"I don't think his imagination is that good," she sat up, "but we'd better get dressed."

He handed her his handkerchief to clean herself off and redressed.

"Lipstick, Jack," she pointed to his mouth, "I'm not sure that shade is quite you."

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth which only served to smear the red further over his face.

"Here," she passed her camisole, "use this, I think a change of clothes is in order, at least underwear, don't want to give Guy too many ideas."

Checking that the room was in order and they were dressed enough for propriety, Phryne unlocked the door and peeked out.

"Coast's clear," she grabbed his hand, "run!"

With her shoes in her hand she was fleet of foot and they made it to the elevator before anyone knew they had left the study.

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Jack declined to share the shower with her, rightly assuming they would not get out of there before lunch and someone would come looking for them, but as he stepped in she slapped his behind. He caught her hand.

"Trying to start something, Miss Fisher," he growled.

"Only if you want to finish it, Inspector," she purred, and, pulling the towel tightly round her, she headed into the bedroom. He shook his head and turned his attention to his clean up.

Correctly attired they presented themselves in the dining room. Isabella thought Phryne's colour was a little high, but she seemed perfectly poised and the conversation was steered neatly into the first thoughts of the trip the two detectives were considering taking.

"Does that mean going through British Palestine?" Margaret paused in eating a piece of ham.

"Probably," her daughter agreed, "of course we shall have to careful ..."

"Oh darling," Margaret let her fork drop to the plate with a clatter, "can't you find another route?"

"I think," said Jack, trying to find a way of placating her, "if we avoid Jerusalem itself we should be fine."

"Flying ... I don't think I could do it again, and I'm not sure I could cope with _being_ flown ..."

"A sea voyage?"

"Too long," Phryne heaved a big sigh.

"But relaxing," Isabella suggested.

"We have decided to make it a tour," Jack looked across at his love, "Phryne is more well travelled than I, I am quite looking forward to seeing more of the world, without having to wear a uniform ..." he alluded to his time in the war.

"So," Henry coughed, "when is this 'tour' to start?"

"We haven't set a firm date," Phryne twirled her wine glass, "but, early in the new year ..."

"I need to get back by the end of March," Jack clarified, "my leave runs out, then."

"Your job ..." Guy almost sneered.

"Yes, Guy," Phryne snapped ...

"The job that keeps you and your family safe," Jack interrupted, "your mother ... that kept you out of trouble over the Marigold Brown case ...It's alright, Phryne," he reached over and squeezed her hand, "people like your cousin find us useful in times of adversity, but otherwise ..." he shrugged.

Guy's mouth opened and closed like a landed codfish.

"Sorry, Jack," Isabella apologised, she turned to her husband, "stop being so arrogant, Guy, dear, it doesn't suit you."

Phryne raised an eyebrow.

"Apology accepted," Jack nodded, "I've heard worse."

"Some people can be ungrateful, can't they?" Margaret had resumed eating, resigning herself to the fact that Phryne would do what Phryne would do.

"Sometimes," he agreed, "however, I look at it this way, if you don't want to know the truth then don't ask me or any member of the force to sort out your problem. It's not my fault if your lifelong friend turns out to be a drugs baroness and murderer."

Phryne giggled, Aunt Prudence was horrified when it turned out that it was Lydia Andrews that had killed her husband, and that said husband was having his way with any of the maids he passed.

"Prudence told me about that," Margaret shook her head, "Lydia Andrews, and that oaf of a husband of hers forcing himself on the housemaids, terrible."

Phryne was glad her aunt hadn't blamed Alice for leading Andrews on, and Dot had been lucky to escape with her innocence intact.

Henry cleared his throat and tried to bring the topic back to that of the proposed tour Jack and his daughter were about to embark on. Phryne thought he looked a bit guilty. He was a flirt, had he been unfaithful to her mother, with a housemaid? She stared at him, drawing her brows together and he blushed and looked away.

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Because their arrangements were vague, most of Phryne's clothes and such things she wanted back in Melbourne were sent by ship. Between them they had enough variety of dress in two small trunks and an overnight bag. They had a large amount of cash, in various denominations, concealed in the luggage and about their persons and had arranged to withdraw more when they arrived at the few set destinations on the trip.

"We'll telegram," Phryne kissed her mother as they stood on the dockside waiting to board the cross channel ferry, "but don't expect regular updates."

"Do try to keep out of trouble, Phryne," Margaret pouted, "look after her for me, Jack, please."

"I shall do my best," he smiled taking her hand, "though she doesn't like being protected."

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"So, Jack," Phryne stood watching the White Cliffs recede, "homeward."

He took her hand, "Together."

"Together."


	2. Chapter 2

The first few days of their trip went as well as could be expected. They had travelled, slowly, through familiar territory before stepping onto the streets of Paris. Phryne had it in mind to show him the places she had been after the war, the streets of Montmartre, the artists quarter, and while he found it interesting she found it strangely disconcerting. Old memories, even some friends, reminded her of her days modelling for Sarcelle - good memories - and the nights with Rene - not good memories. Jack sensed a shift in her mood and when she started to have nightmares he knew it hadn't been such a good idea, after all. He suggested they move on.

"I wanted to show you Paris," she pouted as they packed.

"Paris is not for us, Phryne, the wrong sort of memories, how about we make some new ones, I have a fancy to see Italy - Venice or Rome?" He shut the suitcase and placed it on the floor. "Perhaps one day, a summer day, we can come back again, but ..."

She could see he was right, which irked her, she preferred to be the one who was right.

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They traced a route through France and into Switzerland where Jack suggested skiing. Phryne looked at him, puzzled.

"You can ski, can't you?" he tipped the bell boy at the hotel.

"Yes, of course, I just didn't know you could," she threw her hat down on the chair and flopped on the, large and very comfortable, bed.

They were in a small town in the mountains and there was a good covering of snow, that looked as if it might lead to some good skiing.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Miss Fisher," he smiled, dangerously.

She thought of the fun she could have finding out all she could, but it had been a long journey and what she needed was a long soak to ease out the kinks, then ... who knew ...

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They relaxed in Switzerland, days spent exploring some of the old towns and skiing, never staying in one place for more than two days, staying in small hotels that had a spare room. They spent their nights exploring each other and learning how to be a couple. There were sparks, Jack didn't expect nor want anything else, that was what he loved about Phryne. She could be unpredictable yet predictable and having been married he wasn't surprised when she became moody, he recognised the signs and gave her the room she needed, be that letting her wander off on her own or sleeping on the edge of the bed.

"Accommodating," she huffed returning after an afternoon sitting in a park, "that's what you are, Jack."

"I aim to please," he nodded, "as long as you are ok."

"Sorry," she leant against his chest, "I don't usually let it bother me, it's just part of being female ... " she looked up at him to see if he understood what she was talking about.

"I was married, once, remember," he kissed her forehead, "ducked many a saucepan ..."

The idea that Rosie threw kitchenware at him once a month made her smile, though she knew why it upset Rosie ... it meant she wasn't pregnant ... and it wasn't a reason to smile - another woman's pain.

The mood passed quickly, fortunately for Jack, she would probably have a better aim with whatever came to hand.

Jack was happy that the absence of cases, crimes to be solved, did not seem to bother her, she didn't seem to be bored. But it was with little surprise that they found themselves in the middle of a rather unpleasant burglary - in Italy - Rome, to be precise.

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Their journey had taken them over the border and down to Rome before they headed across to Venice and then into Yugoslavia.

They had settled into a lovely, slightly grander, hotel than they would usually settle for due to Phryne's faultless Italian and flattery that had the staff running all over the place to find the grandest room for the best price, with a lovely view of the Colosseum and its own bathroom.

Jack suppressed a smile as minions flew round them, took their luggage up to the room; he though she mentioned 'il Papa' and it wouldn't surprise him if she had met the Pontiff, Pius XI.

"Alright," he laughed when they were finally alone, "what did you tell them?"

She shrugged, "A spy never tells, Jack, you should know that," and, as she wouldn't be drawn he decided it must have been something to do with the Pope's time in Poland just after the war, though spying for the Catholic church was not something he saw her doing, which, in retrospect, was the point, "but I think I shall try for an audience with His Holiness ..."

"Why? You're not Catholic," he frowned.

"Just for old time's sake," she kicked her shoes off and wriggled her toes, "as we're in town ..."

"Phryne?" he sat next to her on the bed, "you and ..."

"Heaven's no!" she gasped, "Father Ratti is a good Catholic priest, not to be tempted and not even I am that kind of person, Jack."

"I know, but I wasn't sure if you knew him before he entered the priesthood."

"Poland," she smiled.

"Ah, I did wonder," he kissed her cheek, "bath?"

"Ooh, yes please - you joining me?" she smirked.

"If there's room," he winked and went to investigate the bathroom.

They bathed and took turns in ravishing each other before deciding that the water had gone cold and Jack stood up to reveal bruises and bites all over his body. Phryne licked her lips and looked coyly from under her lashes.

"Behave yourself, woman," Jack grumbled, she pouted in reply He wrapped a towel round his waist then held one out for her.

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Jack was surprised how easy it was for them to arrange an audience with the Pope, he was sure she had pulled a few strings.

"It's not just us, Jack," she stood in front of the wardrobe and flicked through to find a suitable outfit. Black, of course, sedate, not trousers - she pulled out a black skirt - then put it back again and huffed. He stood up and went to stand by her.

"Trouble?"

"It's not something I packed for, Jack, an audience with the Pope, I need to be sober in my dress."

"Right, so ..." he pulled out her black trousers, black camisole top and sheer silk blouse, "this is pretty sober, for you, though if you wore a habit you'd make it look sexy."

"I'm not sure, trousers ..."

"They look like a long skirt," he held them against himself, "honestly."

"Not your style, Inspector," she took them from him and slipped them on, followed by the camisole and blouse that she tucked into the waist. "What else, apprentice of the House of Fleuri," she teased.

"This coat," he pulled out the black coat with a vibrant embroidered border, red flowers and a white leaf design all bordered by a gold stripe, "and the black beret."

"Hm, not sure about the coat," she muttered.

"If he knew you before I'm sure he would not expect you to be completely in black," Jack helped her into said coat, "and what's wrong with a bit of colour?"

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There were about a dozen people seeking an audience that morning, pilgrims, a couple of nuns, a mother seeking a blessing for her crippled child, another resident of the hotel determined to be the first to kiss the papal ring. She was alone though Phryne was sure she had a companion with her at the hotel, and a young couple, the girl more enthusiastic than the man.

The Pope spent a few minutes speaking to each person, he blessed the pilgrims who had travelled from Palestine, he spent longer with the little girl in the wheelchair. Phryne heard him tell her she was already blessed that she had hidden talents as he looked at a picture she had drawn for him and told her mother to treasure her for her gentleness and inner strength, "for all people," he said, "God has a purpose." It seemed to lift a cloud from over her head, her back seemed straighter. The young couple were next, it seemed they were on their honeymoon and just wanted their marriage blessed, which the Pope did, with a smile. The girl was more than happy, Phryne muttered she was on cloud nine, it seemed to matter so much to her. The pushy woman was one of the last to be seen, just before Phryne and Jack, she kissed the ring and accepted a blessing from his Holiness, her jet jewellery clattered as she stood up.

When it came to Phryne and Jack they had both kissed the ring before he looked into her face. A flicker of recognition and then a smile.

"Is it really you?" he asked, wide eyed, he lowered his voice "la Chatte Noir?"

"It is, father," she smiled, "I hope you don't mind, we were in Rome ..."

"I would have minded if you didn't, God bless you, my child," he smiled back.

"This is my very good friend, Inspector Jack Robinson," she introduced Jack who thought that 'very good friend' was a mild description of their relationship.

"The Lord bless you, Inspector," the Pope made the sign of the cross.

"Thank you, father," Jack bowed his head.

"And how did you meet the Inspector?" he was intrigued, surely she wasn't still in espionage.

"He was investigating a murder I was in the way," she gave a little light laugh. "I'm a private detective now, father, you can use my given name, Phryne."

"I expect she gives you a little trouble, Inspector."

Jack was surprised, but he guessed that Phryne had probably given the young priest trouble in Poland so he agreed, but added she was insightful and very clever.

Phryne," the Pope took her aside, "do you still have connections?"

"Not in that world, in high society, father's a baron," she pursed her lips, "why?"

"Those pilgrims over there," he nodded in the direction of the small group of three, "they have come all the way from Palestine, strange really, they aren't of our faith ..."

"... one God, father," Jack whispered.

"Of course we believe that, but ... anyway, they need held freeing a young Bedouin from prison, in Jerusalem. They believe her imprisonment is unlawful."

"And the authorities won't listen," Phryne folded her arms.

"Apparently not," he sighed, "but ..."

"I understand, you want us to look into it."

"Well, only if you want to," his Holiness nodded, "and if they want you too ... I doubt they can pay you."

"I don't always charge, father," she smiled, "and I do rescue the unfortunate ..."

"Phryne has an adopted daughter," Jack explained, "she rescued her from a life of slavery, Jane is a credit to her."

"I see," the Pope smiled, a Cardinal hurried in and tugged his sleeve. He bent to listen then nodded. "I must go, affairs of state," he shrugged, "I am pleased to see you are well and happy?" Phryne nodded and grinned, "good, happy. God go with you, both of you."

"And with you, Papa," Phryne and Jack chorused.

One the way out Phryne stopped at the group of pilgrims.

"His Holiness has told me of your problem, if I can help here's where I am staying," she handed over one of her cards and scribbled the name of the hotel on the back.

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"You know, Jack," she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow as they headed to a street side cafe , "I don't know if you are Catholic."

"Scottish Presbyterian," he patted her hand, "not what you'd call practising, though, you're C of E, aren't you?"

"Like you, not a regular in church, rather had it rammed down my throat at school."

They sat drinking a light white wine and eating salads and cold meats, and talking about the people who had been at the audience. They were both curious about the pilgrims who had come to ask for help with their friend's plight.

"I suppose it's a last ditch effort to get her released," Jack observed, "if they can't get anyone to do something in Jerusalem, perhaps an outside influence ..."

"It never hurts to ask," Phryne shrugged, "if they want our help they will ask for it, but if they do we will be in Jerusalem, which I rather hoped we would be avoiding."

"Quite," he sighed, "but I never expected the trip to be plain sailing, not with you," he teased.

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As Jack requested the key to their room there was a horrific scream, loud enough to shatter the glass lamp on the reception desk. Phryne looked towards the stairs, Jack headed to the salon on the right.

"Upstairs, Jack!" Phryne grabbed his sleeve and they ran up to the first floor landing. They pulled up short at the sight of the woman from the papal audience holding a silver handled cane over her companion who was lying on the floor, bleeding from a nasty head wound.

"Ladra!" she screamed, "ladra!"

The companion covered her head, sobbing and shaking.

Phryne held her hands up in front of her and took a step towards the woman.

"Signora?" she murmured, her voice low and level, "calma ..."

The woman turned her head slowly, the cane still raised above her head.

"Signora," Phryne repeated holding out her hand for the cane, "per favore."

"Mi ha rubato i gioielli!" she screamed, so shrilly Phryne winced. She still held her hand out for the cane.

It seemed like forever, with the companion sobbing on the floor and Phryne and the woman staring at each other, neither intending on backing down.

Jack approached the prone figure, murmuring softly, in English. His tone seemed to soothe her and she turned her head to look at him.

"Signora," Phryne hissed, "per favore, parliamone." (Please, let's talk)

She huffed but finally relented and handed the cane to Phryne.

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Jack called for a doctor to attend the companion and stayed with her while Phryne took the woman, who turned out to be a minor Italian countess, into her suite. She spoke fluent English; with an accent Phryne couldn't place; when not throwing accusations at poor, put upon companions.

"Can you tell me what is missing?" Phryne sat opposite her, "Contessa?"

"The jewellery I wore to see his Holiness this morning, jet, given to me by my first husband," she held up a lace handkercheif to her nose, delicately. She was a large boned woman, with strong features, the best of which could be said she was 'handsome'. Her hair was black, but not naturally so as a grey strand or two, and roots showed, which would have been covered by her hat. She wore a highnecked, long-sleeved gown, nipped in at the waist and falling to the floor - old fashioned, not even as up to date as Phryne's mother, who was about ten years behind the times. This woman was stuck firmly in the Edwardian era. The gown was expensive but not new, a clever darn and mend here or there and the hem was worn - faded gentility.

"I see," Phryne hummed, "and what gives you cause to blame your companion?"

"Who else," she sneered, "she is the only one with access to my jewellery box."

"I put mine in the hotel safe," Phryne smiled sweetly.

"Pah, they are also thieves, layabouts!"

Phryne was sure the Contessa was a little too high handed to get any decent service out of the hotel staff.

"Do you mind if I have a look at the box, and her room, yours too?" she stood up and slipped her jacket off, the woman had the heating on and it was quite a warm day.

"Why would you want to see mine?" the Contessa stared.

"Oh, you know, just to be sure they haven't been put in the wrong place, not that I am suggesting ... the Inspector and I are always very thorough."

"Inspector? Of police?"

"Yes, and I am a private detective," Phryne handed her her card.

"The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher," she raised her eyebrows, "what you young girls get up to ... well I supose it won't hurt."

Phryne went to find Jack and to see if the companion had anything to tell them, she was sure she was innocent.

Jack was in the companion's bedroom with the doctor. The wound had been neatly sutured and cleaned, she had stopped sobbing but her tear streaked face showed all the distress she was in.

"Ah, Miss Fisher," he stood up and held out his hand, "let me introduce Miss Ethel Swinburne, companion and lady's maid to the Contessa di Ferrara ..."

Phryne snorted, "Mrs Smith, then," she raised an eyebrow as Jack frowned.

"Ferrara is derived from the Latin for 'one who works with iron', see I did listen at school," she laughed.

"Too right," a voice from the bed huffed, "about as Italian as the sky. She came from Yorkshire, after her first husband died. He owned several ironworks, left her rolling in it, so she came to Italy and changed her name."

"So, first husband ...?"

"Only husband ..." Ethel snorted, "who else would have her, no bloody oil painting."

"Right." Jack hummed, "Miss Swinburne ..."

"I know, you want to know if I took the jet, well the answer is 'no'," she shuffled up the bed, "I wouldn't take that kind of stuff, too dark - now that lovely swallow brooch you wear, Miss ..."

Phryne put her hand over the brooch she wore as constantly as she wore underwear.

"Lovely piece, pretty, that's worth taking," she smiled, "not that I would, you understand, never. Dad was a jeweller, I learnt a bit."

"The jet?"

"Not worth a lot, not particularly good quality, scratched, it scratches if you're not careful ..." she shrugged, "now I suppose you want to know why I'm companion to her?"

"I'd be interested to know, you seem to have more about you than she needs, or wants," Jack nodded.

"I wanted to travel, dad left me well provided for but not well enough to travel without earning something while I did so. She advertised for a lady's maid and at first everything was fine ..." Jack noted everything she said down, how they had sailed from England and taken the train from Calais. Mrs Smith's Italian was faultless having had an Italian nanny while her parents dragged the little girl all over the world.

"She changed her name to Ferrara when the locals appeared to look down on her even though she is pretty well off," Ethel went on, "then decided that a simple Signora Ferrara was not good enough and styled herself 'Contessa'. I suppose she has started to treat me as a lesser being in case I give up the truth. She's got worse, lately, and refused to pay me last month, said I wasn't worth it."

"Do you think her money may be running out?" Phryne asked.

"The way she spends, probably, entertaining well to do Italian gentlemen of a certain age, I think she's trying to hook one," Ethel grimaced.

"No biters?"

"Not a one, and doesn't that make her cranky," Ethel shrugged.

"Right," said Jack, "now about the theft of the jet jewellery ... has anybody else been in the room today?"

"Seriously, apart from the chambermaid I wouldn't think so, and that was before she headed out to see the Pope."

"You didn't go, I noticed." Phryne sat down on the stool at the dressing table.

"Oh. were you there, too?"

"The Pope is an old friend, we met some years ago," Phryne smiled, "but yes, we saw her."

"Pushing to the front?"

"Tried, but a group of pilgrims were first, so ..."

"Not a Catholic ..."

"Neither are we," Jack folded his hands in his lap.

"Not a follower of any religion, really, and I thought I might get half an hour to myself. The jet was gone when I got back, she was raging and screaming and when I went into the room to see what the matter was she belted me with the cane, twice - I think. I tried to run but she tripped me up and that was where you found me, on the floor thinking this was the end." Ethel relaxed back onto the bed.

"I presume you locked the doors?"

"Absolutely - look in the top drawer," she pointed at the dressing table.

Phryne went to open the drawer and pulled out a small box, velvet covered about eight inches by five and about four inches deep. On opening it she found two rings, a 'dearest' ring and what appeared to be a diamond engagement ring, a gold charm bracelet, two or three plain and etched gold bangles. In the tray underneath there were brooches, diamond, sapphire and emerald. Everything was superb quality, mainly Victorian and Edwardian.

"That's all mine, all made by my father, if anyone wanted to take anything of value that's the stuff to take." She smiled, pride written all over her face.

"Shouldn't it be in the hotel safe?" Jack asked, taking a brooch Phryne passed to him.

"Probably, and now I know there's a jewel thief about I shall put it there," Ethel agreed.

"Has the Contessa seen these?"

"Only the charm bracelet, father put a charm on it every year, on my birthday, the bird in the cage was the last - my nineteenth," she sniffed.

"It's lovely," Phryne smiled, "a perfect memento." She ran it through her fingers, counting the charms and found that there were, indeed, nineteen.

"Thanks, he was good, even made things for high society, Dukes and the like."

Jack took note of her father's name and the whereabouts of the shop still run by her brother, similarly talented. He would send a telegram to the local force to check her details.

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Though the Contessa insisted it was her companion who had stolen her jet Jack told her that he would not be having her arrested but he might suggest it for her, aggravated assault, he told her. The doctor insisted Miss Swinburne had to stay in bed to recover and non of the hotel maids would undertake to take on her duties so the Contessa had to see to herself.

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Over dinner, at a quiet corner table where they could see the comings and goings of the other residents, Jack and Phryne talked about the case.

"Now that we know she is plain old Mrs Smith, what do you think, Jack?"

"Really, I don't know," he sat back in his seat, "the jet she was wearing, and let's face it there was a lot, I remember my grandmother having some. No idea where it went. Anyway, is it that she's lost? Was that all she had? When you went through her room ..."

"Ha!" she snorted, "she had her eyes on me the whole time, no chance for me to have a proper search - oh, look, there she is."

The Contessa swanned into the dining room and was ushered to a discreet table far away from the door, just as Phryne had asked.

"Good," she whispered, placing her napkin on the table, "will you excuse me, Jack, just going to powder my nose."

"You planned this?"

"Might have," she blew him a kiss as she sauntered through to the door.

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Outside a bell boy slipped a key into her hand, she, in turn slipped some coins into his. He followed her up the stairs and positioned himself just down the corridor from the Contessa's room. If the woman was seen coming back up the stairs he would slip into Ethel's room and knock on the door between the two rooms, thus enabling Phryne to leave without being seen.

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The room was a mess. Dresses and undergarments flung everywhere, a stocking hanging from the bed post and Phryne tripped up over a pair of boots.

She started to search, thoroughly, all the usual places one might expect to find treasures, precious mementoes. She found a hatpin in amongst the flowers in a vase, small amounts of cash - mainly change - in drawers, tucked in the lining of a jacket, under the mattress and in the pillow case!

In the bottom of the wardrobe she found a box. It was wooden, plain and sturdy - and unlocked. Phryne opened the lid expecting it to be empty but inside was a diamond ring, a few silver chains, a string of pearls and a pair of matching earrings, all worth more than the jet she adorned herself with daily. She lifted the top tray and found a stray jet earring and as she examined it in the light she could see it was scratched and the point of the drop had been broken off. Putting everything back where she found it she mused on the find - this can't have been a theft for gain. Ethel would know about the contents of the box.

Ethel Swinburne had pushed her dinner tray aside and was contemplating whether or not she could manage to read for a while when there was a knock at the connecting door. The Contessa would never knock, she just barged in and demanded.

"Come in," she straightened the bedcovers, "oh, Miss Fisher - have you been snooping?" she grinned.

"A lady never snoops, Miss Swinburne, I discreetly search." Phryne smirked.

"Of course you do, can I help you?"

"The box in the bottom of the wardrobe ..."

"Holds all her jewellery," Ethel sat up straighter, "why?"

"All the better things are still there," Phryne sat ont he edge of the bed, "and one damaged jet earring. The thief was making a point, but if they knew so much about her then they must know that to steal the things she valued most would instantly point the finger at you. You haven't upset anyone, have you?"

"Only her," Ethel frowned, she could see what Phryne meant, "the hotel staff are very kind, I'm sure she didn't order my dinner to be sent up and the young man that delivered it is a sweetheart. I've been teaching him English ever since we arrived."

"Have you seen anyone familiar around, you know, someone who may have followed her ... what were her family circumstances when she left England?"

"She has a son, a bit of an oaf to be honest," Ethel folded her hands together, "he didn't want her to, in his words, 'swan off around bloody foreigners', sorry."

Phryne waved the oath away. "Is that the photograph on the bedside cabinet?"

"That's him, Francis, Frank to his friends, like him, oafs."

"Right, well, I best get back down to the dining room before Jack sends out a search party, can you write down all you know about the family and I'll come and see you tomorrow?" She stood up and headed for the door, "I think we're on to something, sleep well."

"You too."

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"Ah, there you are," Jack stood up as she returned to the table, she noticed he looked harrassed.

"Jack?" she took her seat opposite him, "what ...?"

"The Contessa came over, she was rather loud ..." he shuddered, "honestly I wouldn't be surprised if someone took a pot shot at her, she's so ... full of her own self importance. Wants to know why we haven't solved the case yet."

"Because, dear Inspector," Phryne reached over and squeezed her hand, "I don't think there was anything taken."

"The jet?"

"Was the least valuable stuff in her box, I found some things of greater value, pearls and a diamond ring or two," she looked pleased with herself, "and she has a son, a big ugly oaf called Francis, or Frank, according to Miss Swinburne, who, by the way, hasn't been paid lately."

"A way to get rid of her, you think," he leant forward, lowering his voice, "her or the son?"

"Now that I'm not sure of," she admitted, "it could be the son, worried about his inheritance, it could be her because she hasn't got any money left remember what Miss Swinburne said about entertaining."

"Yes, so where is the jet?"

"Probably on her," Phryne shrugged, "under that dress she could hide a multitude of sins, or things."

"There was nothing else in the wardrobe, coat pockets ...?"

"Not that I could find and I was thorough ..."

"I bet you were."

"Did you get a reply to your telegram?"

"Yes and it all looks as if Miss Swinburne is telling the truth, however ..." he held up another one, "the Contessa, now that is different."

"Did you send a telegram to the police in her town?"

"Shall we go upstairs?" he stood and offered her his hand, "perhaps we can have coffee up there."

"Oh, right, that would be lovely," she fluttered her eyelashes for all to see.

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Phryne kicked off her shoes and shuffled up the bed while Jack draped his jacket over the back of a chair. She had contemplated taking her dress off but decided they wouldn't get very far - in the case, so they sat, clothed, on the bed with a tray of strong Italian coffee on the bedside cabinet.

"Now, this telegram ..." she blew across the cup, "do tell."

"It's a long one, almost a letter, which is to follow, apparently," he pulled the paper from his inside pocket.

"May be too late by then," she hummed, "if we have to wait a week for a letter she'll have made good her escape or hurt Ethel."

"Quite, it would seem that Mrs Smith, Mrs Rowena Smith, is well known for accusing young maids of theft, and planting the evidence."

"Are they sure she planted the evidence? I mean it is one person's word against anothers, and that more weighty."

"Ah, well, in the last case, which is why she left England, she accused a visitor of taking a small Sevres pot," he looked at her blankly.

"Sevres - French porcelain, very pretty, quite valuable - where was this pot?"

"In her bedroom, on the dressing table," he read on, "it turned up later in a pawn shop a day's travelling away. When questioned the pawn broker said it had been brought in by a woman who he described in detail. The description matches Mrs Smith to a T."

"The other thefts?"

"Evidence planted in maids' rooms, under their beds or in a corner of the wardrobe, but no finger prints were ever found."

"So," Phryne tipped her head and looked at the ceiling, "she's pawning the goods, before or after accusing someone to finance her lifestyle."

"So it would seem," he agreed, "so, pawnshops tomorrow?"

"I should say so," she put her cup down and took his out of his hand, "Now, Inspector ..."

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She lay pink and glistening and panting after Jack took her any which way he could; with his hands, his mouth ... and she had done her best to return the compliment. He looked down at her, smirking. She was beautifully dishevelled, the air smelt of sex and the perfume she had worn that day. He rolled off her and pulled the cool cotton sheet over them and they both fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The sun was high in the sky when they were awoken by an urgent knocking on the door. Phryne rolled off Jack and sat up blinking. The knocking became more insistent. Jack rolled off the bed, his eyes still closed, and reached out for his robe. By the time he got to the door he was awake and the robe was tied round him.

"Oh thank goodness," Ethel stumbled in, "it's the Contessa -she's gone mad."

"What do you mean," Phryne sat up with the sheet clutched across her breasts, "mad?"

"Just that," she gasped, "she's screaming and throwing things and shouting that everyone is after her."

"What set that off?" Jack smoothed his hand over his hair.

"She received a telegram and off she went," Ethel's eyes were wide.

"Right," Phryne slid out of bed taking the sheet with her, "we'll be along."

"Oh thank goodness," Ethel heaved a sigh of relief, "nobody else can get near her."

Phryne ran into the bathroom and pulled her nightgown over her head, swiftly followed by Jack carrying a pair of pyjamas; no time to dress formally, nightwear and robes would have to do.

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Outside the Contessa's room they could hear the sound of screaming and the occasional crash of breaking china. Jack put his hand on the handle, took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He stepped to the side as an ashtray flew through the air to be deftly caught by his lover standing just inches away.

"Contessa," he held his hands up, "calm down and tell me what has upset you." He used his 'placating Mrs Stanley' voice, at least that was what Phryne called it.

"Francisco - lui viene qui," she raised her fist. (Francis, he comes here)

Jack, and Phryne, noticed that she didn't drop the Italian persona which indicated she was still in control.

"Well, that must be a good thing," he soothed, "your son comes to help you."

"Non voglio che mi aiuti," she folded her arms and stared him down. (I don't want him to.)

"Well I'm here now," a voice, deep and rough as if the owner had a cold, stopped her in her tracks. "You can stop this ridiculous Contessa act," he stepped in front of Phryne, "leading all these good folk astray, and that poor lass you took as your maid."

So this was the oaf Ethel had spoken of, Phryne thought, very broad shouldered, tall, well over six feet she judged, thick dark hair. He was well dressed his suit impeccable - 'he must have a good tailor' -she thought, dark grey with the stark white of his shirt showed just above the collar.

The Contessa stood with her mouth open, for once at a loss as to what to say.

"I must apologise for my mother," he turned to the assembled company, "I hadn't wanted her to travel and this is the reason why."

The photograph had done him an injustice, in part. He wasn't handsome, not even ruggedly so, just rugged but his manners were good, he had, what Phryne called, a sincere manner.

"These what you are missing, mother," he held up a handful of jet necklaces, bracelets and earrings. "Found them in a pawn shop down the road," he dropped them on the bed, "you match the photograph, according to the chap in the shop. It won't do, mother," he loomed over her, "you go around condemning those you accuse to misery. Unable to find a post; poor little Mary Roberts, couldn't stand the shame, they pulled her from the river last week, and Jenny Ward, I found her selling herself in Leeds, that's the kind of life you condemn these blameless girls to. What would become of Miss Swinburne with that over her head, here in a foreign land, eh? I've paid your bill and settled up for the breakages, now get packed, you're coming home."

"Francisco ..." she held out herhands to him.

"Frank, mother, my name is Frank," he turned, "I hesitate to ask, Miss Swinburne," he smiled, "but would you assist my mother? I would deem it a great kindness."

"Of course, Mr Smith," she stuttered. She saw him so rarely, usually with his manufacturing friends and they were usually a little drunk.

"Miss Swinburne," he stopped her, "I know you think me a boor, and perhaps I have behaved in such a manner, for which I apologise, but ..."

Ethel had the good grace to blush a little and headed into the room, closing the door behind her.

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With the door closed Jack and Phryne introduced themselves and invited him to join them for breakfast, when they had dressed.

"Lovely," he smiled and shook their hands, swallowing Phryne's small one in his large and calloused paw. She found him surprisingly gentle.

In the breakfast dining room a dressed Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson sat eating pastries and drinking coffee with Mr Frank Smith. They found him bluff, rough round the edges but essentially a good man.

"Mother's always had ideas above her station," he huffed, "dad was a good man, left her well off and me too. He left me a legacy she didn't know about until the will was read. The control of his factories which I've learnt from the floor up bolstered by a good but provincial education. No university but all the teaching in business and financial management I need and business is good, very good. I have friends, and Miss Swinburne has seen them and I, drinking more than is good for me, poor behaviour, not good. It's embarrassing."

"Why did your mother keep selling her jewellery?" Phryne asked, "if she was left well off."

"Mother spends, unwisely, always has. Many a parlour maid has been dismissed before and after pa died to save a wage. I expect she's not paid Miss Swinburne, but I shall see to that. Spine of steel, that girl. She was with mother for a month at least before they started on this journey. I wanted to warn her, she don't deserve it ..." he tailed off staring into the distance.

Phryne watched him, he was a good son, she decided, he cared but was frustrated.

Frank lifted his head with a deep sigh, "d'ye think I have a chance with her?" he asked suddenly, "I've never met anyone like her, strong, not a nervy type, don't simper ... and she's pretty."

"I wouldn't rush things," Jack jumped in before Phryne could offer her relationship advice, "these things take time."

Phryne rolled her eyes.

"If she is to go back with you, to help you with your mother you have the time to get to know her, and she you ... you'll know if and when the time is right."

"Experience, Inspector?" Frank raised and eyebrow.

"Nearly missed mine, ignored the signs, resisted," Jack laughed, "they get you in the end."

"Yeah?"

"And it's a pleasure to be caught," Jack smiled across at Phryne, she smiled back.

"Right, got ya," Frank grinned, "well, got to go and see if the old gal's ready, and Miss Swinburne, of course."

They watched the man stride out of the dining room and head up the stairs to placate his mother and woo Miss Swinburne.

"Parents," Phryne huffed, "can't live with 'em ... god I could do with some air ..."

Jack stood up and held out his hand, "Come on, Miss Fisher, let's go and see what else Rome has to offer."

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They had two days free to relax, make love and avoid other tourists who might need a detective or who were flogging unwanted jewellery. Phryne was aware that the Palestinian pilgrims had yet to contact her, if they wished to do so, but when she voiced her concerns to Jack he just shrugged his shoulders.

"There is a chance, though I admit it is small, that they think a woman is too great a risk." He flinched when she glared at him.

"Women are supposed to be subservient to men, in some cultures, theirs," he folded his arms, "I know they are wrong, god knows without you I would still be trying to solve the King of Snow case ..."

She giggled, that had been her first case with him, though he would not count it, she wasn't a Lady Detective then.

"Don't exaggerate," she shouldered him, "it doesn't suit you."

Sadly, Jack was wrong, the pilgrims were just biding their time.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter takes place after the Palestine case. As that would be addressed in the forthcoming movie I am not even going to imagine what happens. Jack and Phryne need to get back on track to get back to Melbourne before his leave runs out.**

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They were in their hotel room relieved that they could now move on, their work in Jerusalem was done but it had taken over a month and time was now limited.

Phryne stared at the page in her atlas, they had missed out on a trip to Venice and going back was not an option - sadly. She had been looking forward to lying in a gondola with Jack then going back to their hotel to indulge in whatever took their fancy.

"India?" Jack muttered, "Burma, Siam, Malaysia," he traced a route with his finger.

She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

He pushed the atlas aside and lay on his side facing her. It had been an adventure, he couldn't deny that, but there were times they barely saw each other with one seeing to one set of officials and one searching for whatever they had to find at the time. He reached over and trailed his finger down her cheek, she gave a little sigh. The finger continued its journey down her neck and under the front of her simple cotton blouse, slipping the buttons loose until he could cup her breast. Her breath hitched, they had had so little time for intimate moments, most had been frantic couplings between missions.

"Jack," she whispered.

"Shh," he shifted over to her, "I'm still here."

"I was so scared," she turned her head, he was distressed to see tears running down her cheeks, "trouble seems to find me ..." Deep down she was so afraid that he would find her too much trouble, a risk and a risk-taker and finally give her up.

"I'll always be here, right by your side, Phryne. I said I'd come half way round the world to find you, now I have I'm not going to leave you, no matter how much trouble you bring to _our_ doorstep," he kissed her softly, "together, Miss Fisher, you and me."

He drew her close and let her cry her tiredness away until she feel into a deep sleep.

As she slept he plotted their trip home, the countries he had just listed: drive across land to the Persian coast, into India, drive across to Burma, down through Siam and into Malaysia, just as he had traced on the map. All they would need to do would be to find transport, maybe an old army truck ... he drifted off, dreaming of dusty trails in an old truck with a glamorous Lady Detective in the passenger seat. Even his subconscious knew she would be driving!

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It was late afternoon when they both woke, bathed and went in search of something to eat. It was over olives and bread, hummus, fish and various meats, mint tea and fruit juices that Jack put his idea to her.

"If we have a primus and a billy we can probably do for ourselves when necessary, but we should be able to find hotels along the route," he dipped some bread into the hummus and waited. "I know roughing it is not really your style ..."

"I might be tempted," she smiled, "I didn't exactly rough it as a child, but I can wash in a bowl if needs be ..."

"So ..."

"I say we look for a truck first," she sipped the drink, "and perhaps we can stock it with some whisky." She winked.

"Naturally," he nodded.

She looked across at her hitherto buttoned-up Inspector and grinned. It wasn't a salacious grin, she didn't flutter her eyelashes or look coyly from under them, it was a happy grin.

"What is amusing you?" he teased.

"You," she gestured to him, "look at you. When was the last time you wore a suit?"

"Two nights ago, at the consulate ..." he looked down at his linen trousers held up by braces and the white shirt that had the top three buttons open and the sleeves with the cuffs turned back twice, "yes well, a wool three piece is a little uncomfortable when you are chasing Arabs," he shrugged.

"Doesn't stop you chasing wharfies," she smirked. "I like the relaxed look ..."

"Won't do back home," he sighed, he'd become comfortable dressed like this.

"I suppose not," she hummed.

"Well, do we try and find an old truck, then, or trust to whatever transport we can find here, camels?"

"You coped on a camel," she observed.

"Hm..."

"...but a truck would be better, we can get the luggage in the back ..."

"Best make a list," he suggested.

"Good idea."

It wasn't a long list, but it was a necessary list. First the truck, without that there was no point going on with the rest of the things they thought they may need.

Jack knew his way round an engine, asked for each one to be turned over, lifted the hood, scrambled underneath it and checked the tyres. Phryne checked the interior, how much space there was, judging if the trunks and suitcases would take up too much room, in case they had to use it as a bed.

They finally settled on an old Sunbeam ambulance. Jack was surprised that she would accept this, but as she said it was a good workhorse, there was plenty of room in the back for supplies and sleeping and it was easy to drive.

"Are you sure?" he frowned again, "I mean, Phryne ..."

"Jack I have to get over it, sometime, I know I may not like it all the time but it is the best option we have," she folded her arms in that, 'I know what I'm doing' way she had about her, "I don't like visiting Janey's grave, but I do it, every Sunday, I can do this, with you all things are possible."

He pulled her close, wrapped his arms round her, "You are quite something, Miss Fisher," he murmured into her ear, "but if it gets too much for you, let me know, we'll think of something," because she was right, the ambulance was the best choice.

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The road was good, they would be driving all day and once out of the more populated areas Phryne drove faster and the ambulance gave all she was asked of. Most of the time the only people they met were nomadic tribes with camels. If they came across an encampment in the evening they were invited to dine and sleep with them, offers they took up as to refuse would offend.

At each village they stocked up on fresh water from the well and bought bread and fruit. Fresh meat was something they could not carry for it would spoil in the heat but cooked meat dishes and fish was offered if they ate with a family. Phryne had collected a few 'useful' items, lengths of cloth, beads, trinkets that she could offer as gifts or trade with.

Phryne's pale complexion and green eyes attracted much attention wherever they stopped. Women and children would run up to her to touch her clothes, which were simple, modest yet elegant, and she would smile graciously at them, accept the attention and buy them fruit. In the male dominated society Jack made sure to show she was his, always at her side appearing to protect her. More than once he was offered something for her: camels, a herd of goats, beads, all of which he politely declined.

"Surely twenty four camels would be less trouble," she teased him one night.

"Dorothy would skin me alive," he kissed her shoulder, "and I dread to think what the red raggers would do to me."

"So, you are more afraid of Dot than me?"

"Nerves of steel, that woman," he pressed his lips together, "and there are things I can do with you that I am sure a camel would object to."

"Oh, really," she pushed herself up onto her elbow and looked down at him, "such as?"

He pulled her close and slanted his mouth over hers. She moaned into his kiss and slid her hands up his arms and round his neck. They were camped by a waterfall, secluded and out of sight. The sky above was clear the only light was the stars and the moon, and the flickering flames from their fire. She wore nothing more than a simple long white shift that she had donned after using the waterfall as a shower. The sight of her, naked, arms raised to massage the shampoo into her hair the water cascading over her slight body, through the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs had had him instantly aroused. He had swum over to her and knelt down in the shallow water in front of her, slid his hands up her calves, kissed her knees, revelled in her laughter as he tickled the back of the knees, moved his hands up her thighs to caress her folds. She stepped forward and placed her feet either side of his hips and sank down to her knees bending her head to kiss him, run her fingers through his wet hair, scrape her nails over his scalp. He ran his hands up to cup her breasts then pulled her down, aligned himself at her entrance and let her slide down and impale herself on his length. Her hands on his shoulders for balance, his massaging her breasts, she slid up and down him, he thrust up deep inside her - he was so close but he wanted her to release first, to see her come undone over him and she did, tightening and cursing as the climax shuddered through her slight frame and he followed her with a roar. They had swum to wash themselves and now, here they were, on a rug by a campfire.

Jack moved his hands down and lifted the shift up and off her then gently lay her down. As they continued kissing, tongues sliding and teeth nipping he settled himself between her thighs. She felt his hot hard length against her thigh and shifted so he was just touching her folds, she wriggled.

"Patience," he murmured as he licked and nipped down her neck and took one breast in his mouth. She moaned and reached down his back trying to gain purchase on his buttocks.

"Jack," she gasped, "please," she widened her legs and raised her knees, "I want you, inside me." She couldn't get enough of him, each time they made love was a new experience, each time it seemed he plunged deeper into her very soul. He obliged, making her gasp with pleasure, then withdrew, then plunged again each time stretching her more, she rose to meet him over and over again until she stiffened, tightened around him and fell into a blissful abyss. He followed her with one last thrust and fell to her side, not wishing to crush her with his weight.

She reached over and traced her fingers down his cheek and along his jawline, "my Jack," she whispered.

"All yours, Miss Fisher, always," he kissed the fingers then the palm and closed her hand over the kiss.

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They sat drinking the coffee they made in the billy. It was early morning but the day was already warming up.

"Jack," she broke the silence, "we're running out of time."

"I know," he sighed, Jerusalem took up a lot of time we should have spent on the road. But," he put his mug down on the ground, "these days have been the happiest I have known for a long time."

She shuffled closer to him and put her head on his shoulder, "me too," she admitted, "though they could be improved with indoor plumbing and proper meals."

He laughed, "so what do we do about it?"

"If we can get to India, one of the cities perhaps we can catch a train to the south and sail from there." It would seem Phryne had been giving the matter some thought. "The lack of time hadn't escaped me, Jack, and I would hate for you to lose your position. You're a good detective, Melbourne needs you, and I miss my family, Jane, Mr B, Dot and Hugh ..."

"I miss 'em too, even the red raggers."

"I'm sure they'd be touched to hear you say so," she looked up and kissed his cheek, "come on, best get a move on or we'll be even later."

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Four days later they found themselves bound for the east coast of India by train. They had sold the old ambulance, found a hotel and spent a day and a night bathing, sleeping and eating in luxury. They had their laundry done and Phryne had dressed more like she would usually.

"My hair needs cutting," she huffed as the brush caught in a tangle.

"Here," Jack stood behind her and took the brush from her hand. He started at the bottom, just below her shoulders and gently and patiently worked his way to the crown of her head, leaving the tresses silky and shiny.

"Did you ..."

"My grandmother," he shook his head knowing she meant Rosie, "she would wash her hair and then ask one of us kids to brush it for her, she said it was to prepare us for marriage. If we could brush her hair, take out all the knots without hurting her then we would make good husbands. Guess I didn't get it right." He hummed.

She reached up and caught his hand, "you got it just right," she kissed him, "thank you."

He bent and kissed the top of her head. He didn't say whether he liked her hair longer or the short bob she usually wore, that was dangerous territory.

"You're thinking very loudly, Jack," she teased tipping her head this way and that, curling her hair round her fingers, wondering whether to leave it loose or tie it up, oh for Dot.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he smiled. "My hair needs cutting too."

She smiled at him through the mirror, his hair was much longer than men usually wore, unless they were flamboyant artists, curling over his collar.

"I expect you can find a barber somewhere in the city," she turned and took his hands in hers, "go on, I know it makes you uncomfortable."

"Not uncomfortable, as such, just ..."

"Not you," she stood up and put her arms round his neck, "now you are back to wearing more formal clothes . go on, ask the concierge they'll know where the colonials go."

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He left her reading a magazine and drinking tea; it would be good to go to a barbers, perhaps have a proper shave, too. All too often he had let his facial hair grow on the journey, Phryne seemed to like it, most of the time. She said it tickled and she got used to the rash it left on her soft skin.

The concierge did indeed know of the right place for him to have a shave and a haircut and he came out with a smooth chin and a hair style befitting that of a member of the Victoria Constabulary. Phryne was right, it wasn't him, long hair and stubble. He turned in the direction of the hotel and spied a group of young women, giggling. They had their hair cut like Phryne's, two of them at least. He tugged his jacket and stepped up to them.

"Excuse me, ladies," he smiled, "I hope you don't mind but I noticed your hair ..."

One of the ladies touched her head and smiled.

"... oh sorry, I don't mean to be rude," he smiled, "only ... " hell what did he call Miss Fisher? "... we have been travelling for some weeks and ... my wife ... yes, Phryne wants to have her hair cut, back how she used to have it, and I see ..." he waved his hand at her head.

"Oh, heavens, yes it's awfully difficult to find the right person," she got his meaning, "we all use the same one, he's very good, a barber ..."

"Oh, I see," he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Where are you staying?"

"The Royal," he nodded in the direction of the hotel.

"Right, worry not dear man," she stood up, a tall, angular woman, "I shall send my man over to you. Who shall I say he is to see?"

"Er, Phryne Fisher Robinson," he blushed, "room eighteen."

"He shall be there within the hour."

"Thank you," he gulped, "that's very kind."

"Nonsense, dear man, we're all in it together." She squeezed his shoulder and grinned.

Hearty English women were not something he had to deal with in Melbourne but her kindness touched him. He trotted back to warn Phryne that she was now Phryne Fisher Robinson, for the purposes of propriety only.

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He bumbled and muttered about the name, blushed and stuttered that it was only to preserve both their names.

"I did sign the register," he stood with his hands in his pockets, "I expect they think we're husband and wife ..."

"Hm," she tried to glare at him, but it didn't work, he was so deliciously embarrassed and scared in equal measures, that he should imply they were married when she avoided that state at all costs. "All this for a haircut," she huffed, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent the laughter welling up inside her bubbling out.

"I thought ..." he held his hands out to her, "I just want everything to be right, for you, for me ... for us."

"Oh Jack," she held out her hands to him, "you don't have to worry, you always do the right thing, and - what's in a name, eh?"

"A rose by any other name," he crossed the room, "a Phryne by any other name would smell as sweet." They kissed, only parting when there was a knock on the door.

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"I've ordered tea," the tall hearty woman breezed in, followed by a little old Indian, "got to have tea in this blasted heat." She held out her hand to Phryne, "Daphne Cross," she laughed, "am I addressing Mrs Robinson?"

Phryne suppressed a giggle at this caricature of an Englishwoman abroad and held out her hand, "indeed you are, Mrs Cross, this is very kind of you."

"Delighted, I'm sure," Mrs Cross parked herself on the bed, "get to it, Ranjit," she waved at the little man, "you're the best I know, don't keep Mrs Robinson waiting."

"So," Mrs Cross poured tea for each of them, "your husband says you've been travelling ..."

"Yes," Phryne resisted the urge to turn round, "from Palestine ..."

"Lor' didn't know the trains did that," she tipped a generous measure of whisky from her hip flask into her tea.

"We drove," Jack raised an eyebrow, "old ambulance .."

"Really," she gasped, "do tell ..."

And to the accompanying rhythm of the scissors Jack, and Phryne, recounted their adventures and the reason why they had to get to Melbourne before the end of March, which was fast approaching.

"No problem," Daphne waved her hand, "come over to dinner, tonight, my husband will help, he knows people."

"Oh, goodness," Phryne gasped as Ranjit ran his comb for the last time through her hair, "we couldn't impose."

"Stuff and nonsense, seven o'clock, at the Residency, now, how's the hair?"

Phryne ran her hands down her head and smiled, "perfect, thank you so much, Ranjit," she pressed the equivalent of what she would pay in Melbourne into his hand, "you are a god amongst barbers."

Ranjit, still silent bowed and smiled at her.

"I'll send the car for you," Daphne Cross waved over her shoulder and sauntered out with Ranjit close behind, still not believing his luck - Mrs Robinson had given him the equivalent of a year's earnings - for that he'd hold off marauding hoards with only his razor.

As the door closed Phryne collapsed in laughter.

"Oh dear," she gasped, "what a woman, you couldn't write her, could you? Still," she composed herself, "she does have a wonderful barber, and ... oh I shouldn't be so unkind."

"You're not being unkind, she's not here to see you, but ..." he laughed with her, "she is rather hearty, isn't she, sort of 'jolly hockey sticks or lacrosse'."

"Well, we'd better steel ourselves, dinner at seven, what am I going to wear?"

"The white shift," he blurted out.

"What?!"

"That shift you wore, in the desert, it's ... perfect."

"Jack I've slept in that, made love to you under the stars in it ..."

"It's been washed," he shrugged.

She giggled. She had evening dresses, well a couple, in a trunk, but they hadn't seen the light of day, or candlelight of evening, since they had left Palestine, so they were dusty and creased. If she had Dot there would be no problem, but she didn't so there was.

"Phryne, nobody knows you, here," he held her by the arms, "you aren't usually bothered by what people say, you go your way and I'm sure you can dress it up."

She shook it out and hummed.

"Jack, would you mind asking the concierge if they know of a good seamstress, say I need some repairs done ..." she pursed her lips as she thought through what could be done with a plain white shift that fastened with lacing down the centre front.

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He whistled, she looked gorgeous.

She wore the shift back to front. The seamstress had turned back the lacing leaving a low back, very low, that laced to just above her bottom. The sleeves had been taken in to fit her slim arms and the side seam had been opened to halfway, or maybe more, up her thigh. A striking multi coloured striped scarf was tied across her hips and she wore high heeled sandals, studded with paste jewels. She wore no hair decoration or jewellery just a flimsy silk scarf of shot blue and green silk over her head and shoulders.

"Are you sure that's the same shift," he gasped.

"Yep!" she smiled, "will I do?"

"Oh yes, and yes again, you look stunning," he leant forward and kissed her cheek, "in fact I could stand here and gaze at you for the next ten years."

"Only gaze," she huffed, "well I don't think that's good enough."

"Perhaps later I can show you how beautiful you are."

She swanned passed him, turned and blew him a kiss.

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Dinner was perfectly English, vegetable soup, lamb and fruit salad. It was pleasant and light and the wine was good. There were other members of the English inhabitants of the city: a bank manager and his pretty but vacuous wife, the other women Jack had seen Mrs Cross with, a couple of young men who worked for a tea company and a reporter for the Times. He was fascinated with their story, and while they retold their journey made copious notes.

"I don't mind you printing the story," Jack looked at Phryne for her agreement, "but only the facts, no fancy decorations. We both have families and it wouldn't do for them to get the wrong end of the stick."

"My father, Baron Fisher of Richmond upon Thames, tends to worry about me getting into spots of bother," Phryne added, "I wouldn't want him to get upset."

The biggest shock to her parents would be that she would be named as Phryne Fisher Robinson, it would shock her household in St Kilda too, Mr Butler did take the Times for her, just in case there was anything of interest to her. And she was sure he had kept that up, to see if she was mentioned in the society pages. He wasn't averse to a little gossip, the dear man, though he would take it with a pinch of salt.

"Of course," he nodded, "but it is quite something, to make a journey from Palestine to India in an old ambulance."

"Sadly, the ambulance won't get us to Australia quickly enough, now, after spending so much time on the road and in Palestine," Phryne pouted, "we will have to take a more regular transport."

"But you wouldn't have been able to get _all_ the way," Daphne raised her eyebrows, "there's a substantial amount of sea, whichever way you go."

"Our original plan was to drive through Burma, Siam and Malaysia, island hop through Indonesia and then take a boat to Darwin." Jack explained, "From there train to Melbourne."

"How exciting," Elsie Standish, one of Mrs Cross' friends guffawed, "but dangerous, surely."

Jack privately thought that waking up with Phryne was dangerous, anything else was just to be expected, but he nodded and smiled.

"Phryne's a crack shot and we try not to stray off the beaten track."

"It's like something out of a novel," the bank manager's wife simpered. "I should be so terribly frightened."

Her husband patted her hand and smiled adoringly at her.

"So now what do you intend to do?" he asked Phryne, "fly?"

"Hm," she mused, "I like to fly, but I prefer to be the pilot," she grinned, "perhaps we shall have to sail, if there's a ship that can get us to Australia, quickly."

"Take a train to Calcutta," Mr Cross had overheard the conversation and his wife had taken him aside before the dinner, "I can get you passage to Sydney, if that would work for you."

Phryne and Jack both turned to him, "pardon?"

"Strings, I can pull a few," he shrugged, "take you twenty seven days, just short of, then ..."

"Jack," Phryne touched his hand, "it would work."

"Yes, and it would be easier - train from Sydney ..."

"Perhaps one day we can do Burma and ..."

"I love a plan, with you," he smiled, forgetting there were others in the room.

"Plan, who said anything about a plan," she laughed, "perhaps we could bring Jane ..."

"You know, love," he had never used such an endearment to her before and it had her raise an eyebrow, "I think she would like that."

"Jane?" Mrs Cross shot them a look.

"Our ..." he drowned out Phryne's 'my', "daughter."

"She's highly intelligent and even more curious than her mother," Jack laughed, glaring at Phryne, "still at school, of course ..."

"Oh, how delightful," Daphne Cross grinned, "taking a child to the wilderness. Ours are at boarding school - England."

"I did that, I think Jane would be better off in the wilds of Burma," Phryne smiled.

"Really?"

"It was some time ago," Phryne smiled, "but I would never wish that on a child of mine - perhaps my parents chose the wrong school."

"Warley Grammar is the best in Melbourne, Phryne," Jack took her hand, "but, yes, a trip abroad would be good for her."

"Sorry, Daphne," Phryne sighed, "I didn't have the best time ..."

"Neither did I, dear girl," Mrs Cross laughed, "but the boys are happy at Eton."

"Good, as long as they are happy," Jack nodded.

"Now, how about we sort out your trip home," Mr Cross interrupted, thinking his wife had gone perhaps a bit too far.

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"Are you sure, Jack," she sniffed, she felt so ill, had done since the meal at the Residency but as Jack had eaten the same food she knew that wasn't the reason. She had had a few mornings when she felt nauseous but had put it down to strange food and unsafe water, but this morning the stomach cramps had been so painful, and late, that she was certain she was experiencing her worst fear - she had conceived - and was in the process of losing, Jack's baby. She wasn't sure whether it was the idea she had conceived, or the idea she was not going to provide him with a child that hurt the most, but either way it hurt.

She had had to let him meet up with Reginald Cross and arrange the accommodation on board the ship and he had been so sweet about it and now they stood at the foot of the gangplank of a P&O cruise ship that would deliver them to Sydney in a month's time.

"Yes, we will be home with time to spare, now," he offered her his hand, worried that she was unwell, " come on, let's get you settled, rest is what you need."

She tried to walk upright and appear totally in control but the short walk to their cabin was agony. Jack was so gentle and knowing, which was annoying yet comforting at the same time, that she let him lead her aboard and settle her on the bed.

He had told the truth, little did he know it, when Daphne had asked what was wrong with her, that she was in the early stages of pregnancy and that it didn't sit well with her.

Daphne had touched his arm, "know the problem," she smiled, suddenly gentle, "had it with both my boys, ginger, that's what she needs, ginger tea."

Jack smiled and shook her hand, "I'll tell her," he sighed, "It's her first ..."

"Jane?"

"Adopted," he shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Ah, never thought," she offered sympathetically, "well, safe passage, Inspector, to both of you."

"Thank you, and thank your husband for his help, we really do appreciate it."

"God speed, Jack."

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Though still delicate, Phryne was much more herself when they docked in Sydney. She had spent the voyage toying with her food, drinking weak tea or water and craving fruit, any kind of fruit as long as it was very ripe and sweet.

He had waited until she broached the subject.

"I don't understand," she mused, eating yet another ripe peach, "with all the cramping - Jack, I'm sorry," she looked at him sitting next to her on the couch in their cabin, "it shouldn't have happened I should have used my device all the time."

"I was sure I was the reason that me and Rosie didn't have children, that was what she was told ..."

"Pardon?"

"The specialist asked for a certain sample from me and he told her it was because of me ..." he bit his lip, "it's not nice to be told that you are sterile, bit of a slight on your masculinity."

"But you can't be," she huffed, "can you. I'm absolutely sure that what I have just experienced is a very early miscarriage but ... I still crave very ripe fruit."

"When I was ten or eleven it happened to my mother," he reached over and took her hand, "it seemed she lost one of a set of twins. Least that's what she was told, she went on to have my sister ..."

"Oh, do you think ..." she went silent as she processed what he had just told her.

"There's always a chance, but ..." he hesitated, "you have always said marriage and children was not for you," he took a deep breath, "whatever you decide I will fully support you, no recriminations."

"I ..."

"Think about it, Phryne," he hummed, "no recriminations, no 'if onlys', whatever you want I will stand by you."

"I will ... think about it, that is," she sniffed, "why are you so good to me?"

"Because I love you, what you stand for, what you believe in, who you are, who you love I love ..." he squeezed her hand, "now, the only thing I am not sure about is ... that over sweet fruit you consume."

She pursed her lips then laughed, "You won't get a look in, Inspector," she teased, "it's mine - all mine." She took a bite out of the peach and let the juice dribble down her chin, daring him to lick it up and then ... who knew.

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Sweet fruit juice was not one of Jack's preferred drinks but when it was dribbled down her body, mingling with the salts on her skin it was as intoxicating as anything Mr Butler could produce in a cocktail.

He made love to her slowly and tenderly, he made her feel special, perfect, he made her feel loved ... in a way she had never felt loved before and above all else he made her feel as if she deserved to be loved. Jack's love was freely given not begged for or worked for, Jack loved her, all of her. Nobody had ever loved her so completely as he did and as much as it frightened her she felt whole.

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"Jack," she nudged him, "Jack, wake up."

"Urgh, wha ..." he grumbled, "Phryne, are you alright?" he was instantly alert, "what time is it?"

"Er, about three - ish," she grinned, sheepishly, "sorry, it's just I thought ..."

"Thought what?" he pushed himself up on his elbow.

"That you should have a son," she leant back against the pillows, "you should, you know ..."

It was so matter of fact that he struggled to grab hold of what she meant.

"If it's a boy, that is," she hummed, "of course we don't know, it could be a girl ..."

"Phryne, what the hell ..."

"Our baby, I've decided, I'll go ahead and complete the contract."

He spluttered, "contract!"

"This one," she pointed at her mons, "if I can, of course, for that I make no promises but," she took his hands in hers, "you should have the chance to be a father."

"Phryne ..." he gulped, "really?"

"Really," she nodded and slid down into the bed, instantly falling asleep.

All sorts of thoughts whirred through his mind: they weren't married, though most thought they were, what would she think once the baby arrived, would they need a nanny, a wet nurse, how would Dot feel, Mr Butler, he turned and looked at her, curled up on her side, eyelashes dark half moons on her cheeks, perfectly adorable, even angelic - god he loved her! And he was going to be a father!

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She straightened her back and slipped her hand through the crook of Jack's elbow as they disembarked from the ship. She had made the decision and they had talked about the marriage situation. They weren't married but so many thought they were, just by way of what had happened over the past months. Jack was willing, more than willing to make things proper with her, but ... it had to be her decision. A baby born of love was more legitimate than any other child - in his mind.

They were to spend a couple of days in Sydney before heading home to Melbourne.

"Does the air smell different, Jack?" she looked up at him, "more ...

"...Australian?" he turned and grinned, "you know, I think it may."

She squeezed his arm, "and what does that mean?"

"We are home, our country," he sighed, "with all its foibles, interests and judgements."

"You mean us ... unmarried and expecting a child," she shrugged.

"Unmarried, Miss Fisher," he raised his eyes, "but ..." he waved his hand at the ship, "nobody said anything."

"Come on, Jack," she huffed, "it's a matter of paperwork, you always say so - clean, neatly filed ..."

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"The story will have made the paper by now," she flicked through an old magazine left on the reception desk, "I'd better phone Dot and Mr B," she hummed.

"Let them know when you'll be back?" he signed the register, just as he had signed the registers in all the other hotels they had stayed in, just because it was passed to him and not her.

"When _we'll_ be back, Jack," she put her hand on his and smiled.

"Quite," he took the keys.

"There is a phone in your room, Mrs ..." the clerk turned the register around and scanned the signatures, "... Robinson."

"Lovely," she smiled her sweetest smile but Jack noticed it didn't reach her eyes. It was getting to her, and, if he was honest, to him too, that just because they slept in the same bed they were married, and the title 'Mrs Robinson' took away her identity - he didn't want that, it was the last thing he wanted. If they were to marry, for the sake of the baby, then ... they had to talk, and talk properly.

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"Wait," he took the receiver out of her hand and placed it back in the cradle. "Before you say anything to Dot, we need to have a talk, a serious talk."

"About," she nearly snapped then reined in her temper, she could see he meant the right kind of talk.

"Us, this Mr and Mrs Robinson that people always assume is us," he sat next to her on the bed and took her hands in his, softly stroking the backs with his thumb he sighed, "it isn't, is it."

She gasped, was he suggesting they end it, all they had, now? Was it all a game? She bit her lip.

"I love you," he lifted her hand and kissed it, "there is nothing I wouldn't do for you ..."

"Murder?" she tried to lighten the mood.

"Maybe not quite that much," Jack shrugged, "or take away who you are. While we've been travelling it didn't really matter, did it? Nobody knew us, not really, and sometimes it was convenient, let's be honest, hotels and people, customs in other countries ... but ..."

"Now we're home," her shoulders dropped, "and the story will be in the papers and people will want to know ..." she leant her head against his shoulder, "Dot, Mr B, Aunt P ..." she shuddered, "I don't want to lie to them, Jack, I can't. It's not just a little untruth, is it? We've never introduced ourselves as a married couple, people just assumed and it was easier to accept it, to go along with it rather than give a long winded explanation every time. I love you, Jack, I really do but it's not just us we have to think about, is it? It's this little surprise, " she placed her hand on her stomach.

"If we go on and marry, it has to be for us, Phryne, not for your aunt or convention, for us, and if we do, I don't want you to change. Keep your own name if you want, keep investigating and traipsing all over my crime scenes ..."

"I do not traipse," she pouted.

"You do, but I don't mind, you're a lot more careful with the possible evidence than some of the clod hopping constables I have with me ... it's a piece of paper, Phryne," he was aware he was babbling, that his message was garbled, "just a piece of paper."

"But an important piece of paper, Jack. If the Commissioner were to find out we weren't married but lived as if we were, then I am fairly sure he'd be asking for your resignation."

They sat in silence for a while.

"How quickly do you think we can get married?" she asked, finally breaking the silence, "and can we do it before we get home?"

"I don't know. Is it something you want, truly?" Jack looked into her eyes, "I'd be proud to call you my wife, you know that ... but only if you truly want to be Mrs Robinson."

"Well, I'd be the Honourable Mrs Phryne Robinson, wouldn't I?" she smiled a little smile, "or Fisher-Robinson."

"Can I be Jack Fisher-Robinson, I mean does it work both ways, we take each other's name?"

The cloud started to lift from her, partly, she thought, because he was prepared to put propriety and convention behind him, to jeopardise his position in the police force, for her. Now he wanted to add her name to his ... yes, she gave a decided nod of her head.

"Yes, Jack, let's be husband a wife," she lifted the phone and rang down for some tea ... and fruit.

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Two days later they were in front of the registrar. Theoretically they should have waited two weeks but they didn't have that so Jack found a registrar who was prepared to overlook that, for a fee and they left as Inspector John (call me Jack everybody does) Fisher-Robinson and the Honourable Mrs Phryne Fisher-Robinson. There was no notice in the paper, no fanfare and no party just the neat filing of a piece of paper, a copy of which was in Jack's jacket pocket.

"Now you can ring Dot," he kissed her hand paying particular attention to the fine gold band on her finger, "tell her when we'll be back."

"I was thinking the end of the week," she tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow, "we have to find out how, first."

"Well, ," he steered her in the direction of their hotel," we don't have a car ..."

She pursed her lips, "train?"

"Let's look into that, shall we?" he nodded, "now, those cakes look inviting," he stopped in front of a small tea room, "shall we indulge ourselves?"

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"Jack!" she gasped as he kissed her nose over the table.

"Cream," he laughed, the cream from the strawberry tart she had been eating had somehow ended up on the end of the pretty nose he so delighted in kissing - often. "Nice tart?"

"Cheeky," she smirked.

"Hm," he tipped his head to one side. "Time to move on, I think."

"Plan the journey?" she dabbed the corner of her mouth, "or ...?"

"Journey, and then .." he grasped her hand, "come on, time's a wasting."

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"Thief!"

The boy pelted down the train, only to be stopped by Inspector Fisher-Robinson, simply by the act of sticking his foot out for the boy to trip over.

"Name," he grunted, too low for anyone to hear and he dragged him up by the collar.

"Jack, guv," the boy gasped, at which Phryne laughed.

"Jack!" the Inspector called, "how often have I told you ... no helpin' yourself,"

"Sir," the boy Jack gulped, " sorry, sir," he looked down, hiding the pie behind his back.

"Sorry, my nephew has a wicked streak," Jack held up his hands, "now, here, go pay the man," he gave him a couple of coins and shoved him towards the buffet manager.

"Sorry, Uncle," the boy swallowed, "didn't mean ..."

"Pay him and get back here, pronto, boy!" Jack (Inspector Jack) cuffed him over the back of his head.

"Ok, sir."

Phryne was still laughing when the boy, Jack, presented himself at the compartment. Jack had shrugged and suggested he need to practice being a stern parent.

"Guv?" the boy saluted, "erm ..."

"Now, boy," the Inspector harrumphed, "this the right way to go about earning a crust?"

"No, sir, t'ain't," 'little' Jack, sniffed, "but," he drew himself up, "boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do."

"Parents?"

"Uh uh, none I can remember," he folded his arms, "makin' my own way."


	4. Chapter 4

Jack's detective antennae had twitched when they had stood at the desk booking the trip. There had been fuss and bother, shouts and calls and people darting here and there.

Two, first class, to Melbourne," he sighed, "via Albury."

They had settled in their compartment, Phryne with a book and he with a newspaper to try and catch up on the news, when the fuss about the boy started. At first they had tried to ignore it, they had had little 'crime' to occupy them during the last leg of their journey and hoped to keep it that way. The cries of 'thief' and squeals of women had got closer and closer until Jack, frustrated at not being able to concentrate, had stood up and peered out into the corridor. He spied the boy barrelling past passengers with the buffet car manager behind him, puffing and grunting, yelling and waving his fist. Tripping the boy up was not best police procedure but it was efficient and he didn't fancy a lot of paperwork just for a pinched pie, so claiming him as his nephew was the easiest thing to do.

Phryne watched the boy, a mutinous look on his face, stand in front of the Inspector.

"So," Jack leant back in his seat and folded his arms, "this how you spend your days - on the train?"

The boy shook his head, "Not every day," he grumbled, "mostly stay in Melbourne."

"This is Sydney, lad," Jack hummed, "so you came up on the last train?"

"Baggage compartment, fell asleep there, then ..." he shrugged, "Sydney's a long way from Melbourne, i'n't it, sir?"

"Why were you in the baggage compartment?" Phryne put her book down.

"Cold and wet," he wiped his nose on his sleeve, "only planned to wait until it stopped rainin' ..."

"Where do you live, I don't mean the city, which I take it is Melbourne, but where in the city?"

"Not tellin!" he stamped his foot and scowled.

"Hm," Phryne sat back, and took in his clothes - not rags, not yet, anyway. Not particularly well fitting, the trousers a little short, the shirt was old and had lost its whiteness and his short coat had a torn pocket, a button missing and was worn at the elbows and edges. Wherever he had come from he had been clothed and probably fed so ... an orphanage? And he didn't want to go back there. She didn't imagine it was a particularly loving place, they weren't, usually. She had gone round one with her Aunt one day, to see where the money went. They had gone at lunchtime but whereas the board members had a decent three course meal with wine, the children had had one course of a grey looking stew. When peering at it in the pan Phryne had identified cabbage and potatoes, maybe a carrot or two but she couldn't identify any meat.

"Good nourishing food," the cook had grunted, "that's the stuff to build 'em up."

"Er, quite," Phryne had coughed. She hadn't enjoyed her meal much, after that.

"Good pie, is it?" she murmured.

"Not bad," he shrugged, "not as good as the cart at Flinders Street station."

"Quite the expert," Jack mused, "what about the one outside City South Police Station?"

"You daft, guv?" he spluttered, "the coppers eat from there ..."

Jack raised an eyebrow, "I am well aware of that ... now, what are we going to do with you?"

"Er ... you could let me go," he grinned cheekily.

"Neglect my civic duty," Jack huffed, "I don't really think so, what do you say, Phryne?"

"How old are you?" she asked.

"What's it to you?" he folded his arms and tapped his foot.

"Well, you're not a babe in arms, I'd guess around eleven, maybe ten?" she held his gaze and folded her arms.

"Yeah, that's about it," he huffed, not sure himself.

"Can you read, write?"

"Some," he admitted, straightening his back, and to prove it, "that book you're readin', 'The Rainbow' what's it about?"

"Ah well, it's about a family in England," she smiled, "it's quite good."

"Can I read it?" he held out his hand.

"I think you're a little young, yet," Phryne smiled.

A wave of relief swept over Jack, for a brief minute, but then he knew she didn't encourage Jane to read D H Lawrence.

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'Little' Jack didn't know why he hadn't scarpered as soon as the man had given him the money to pay for the pie, or why he had gone back to the compartment as instructed. He knew they had money; the man had a smart suit on and his shoes were so shiny he could almost see his face in them, the lady was really pretty and that was a fur coat she was wearing, these were people of quality but not snobbish.

"You should be in school," the Inspector noted.

"Pah!" the lad snorted, "that place don't teach yah nothin' but rules and reggerlations, no good fer me."

"And what would be good for you?" Phryne asked, genuinely interested.

"Engines," he nodded emphatically, "how they works, see, I reckon it's the way to go, cars and such, ye get more cars than 'orses on the roads, and motorsickles - yeah," he sighed, "I'd love to own one, one day."

Phryne smirked behind her hand. Her husband remembered her riding one quite recently.

"What would you do," Jack asked, "with a motorcycle?"

"Take stuff, for folks, I mean, not steal it," he tipped his head, considering his answer, "fast, across the city, important papers ..."

A motorcycle courier would be a useful type, Jack knew, taking documents to and from court or from the morgue to the station, he wasn't an idiot, this boy, had all his ideas just not the where with all to do anything about it. He raised an eyebrow - and had a thought - Phryne had taken Jane in, a thief - well a coerced thief - why not this lad? Of course he would have to complete his education, a proper school ...

"Inspector, dear," Phryne broke in on his musings ...

"Inspector!" the boy shrieked, "oh, hell ... beggin' your pardon, missus, but ..."

"Calm down, young Jack," she reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched, "you're alright with us, otherwise ..." she nodded in the direction of the door.

He placed his small hand, with the bitten nails, on his chest, "you right scared me there, so ..." he looked from one to the other, "you a copper?"

"I am," Jack tried to look serious, "Detective Inspector Jack Fisher-Robinson, Victoria Constabulary, City South."

"Blimey!" the boy gasped, "and here I thought you was just a toff with a heart - don't get many of them about."

"Sadly, no," Phryne smiled gently, "but I like to break the mould every now and then ... now," she leant forward, "I'm guessing if we leave you here then you will end up back on the streets of somewhere, and that dream of a motorcycle will fade away to nothing."

"What'ye gonna do about it," he scowled, "buy me a bike?"

"Not quite," she laughed, "but ... here's the deal ... I put you through a decent school, rules and regulations included, then, when you're old enough set you on the right road, to do what you want to do ... you knuckle down, work hard."

"Why would you do that?" he grunted.

"It's a long story," she sat back.

"It's a long journey - accordin' to you," he countered, folding his arms and leaning against the door.

Jack smirked, "touché."

"First, do we have a deal?" she raised an eyebrow at her Jack.

"Mebbe," he shrugged trying to contain his joy at someone taking him seriously, "where do I live?"

"I have enough room for you," she watched for the Inspector's reaction, but his face was hard to read - which to her meant he was going to 'run' with it. "My house has a butler and companion, my adopted daughter Jane. You will be fed, well, provided with clothing and a room, which I expect you to keep tidy ..."

"Not got anyfin' to get messy," he huffed.

"Nothing can still make a mess," she scolded lightly. "Eventually there will be a baby ..."

"Why?"

"Because ..." she pouted, "because I say so. It's my house, me and the Inspector live there ..."

"He your husband?"

"He is," she nodded, "so police officers will call by occasionally to discuss cases with him and me ..."

"Why you?"

"Your first lesson will be how not to interrupt an adult," she pursed her lips, "I am a private detective and sometimes help my husband with his cases; you will keep out of such discussions unless I need you to do something for us ... understand?"

She had leant forward and glared at him. He gulped and thought for a moment - glaring aside she seemed like a fair person.

"I'll give it a go," he held out his hand, "shake?"

Phryne shook his hand and he offered it to the Inspector.

"This is a once in a lifetime chance, lad," he took his hand, "make a hash of it and I'll have you back in the home before you can say 'knife' - got it!"

"Yes. Sir," he swallowed, "got it."

"Good."

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By the time they had reached Albury, where they were to stay overnight, Inspector and the Honourable Mrs Phryne Fisher Robinson had found out more about their young friend.

He didn't remember his parents, they were just ghosts, and he couldn't say for sure when he had been sent to the orphanage (he admitted that was where he came from) but he had enough about him to know that he didn't want to be there, that it was not his home. He had vague memories of warmth; emotional warmth; half decent food that was recognisable, maybe an apple or an orange occasionally ... but that was about all. Jack had no doubts that over time memories would surface, for now they would look after the boy and see him educated, just as Phryne had done with Jane. Of course, there was the matter of Welfare ...

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The concierge at the hotel barely contained the raised eyebrow when asked for another room to house 'Little' Jack for the night. The Inspector understood perfectly, he needed clean clothes as befitted a member of the Fisher Robinson household and a good bath.

There wasn't much time before all stores would be closed for the night and Phryne could shop quicker than anyone he had ever met, but she was shopping for a child, and a boy at that. Perhaps he should offer to help.

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"One on, one off and one in the wash," he murmured as he stared at the shirts, shorts and jackets. 'Little' Jack looked around him, it was just the two of them, Phryne had accepted the offer of help to buy clothes for the boy, but Jack had thought he would just accompany her and rein in her more elaborate choices. Instead she had cheerily waved them off from the front of the hotel and gone to have a long soak in the bath. "Well, that means three shirts for you, young man," he took one from the sales assistant and held it up against the skinny child, "this size, shorts," he did the same, "two pairs and a pair of grey flannels." they tried on three jackets but all looked wrong; long enough they were too wide, slim enough they were too short, evidently he would need his jackets tailored or they could wait until he gained a little weight. Jack opted for two pullovers, a couple of sweaters and a belted coat that disguised the fact it was a little wide. Together with the required underwear and socks, a pair of pyjamas and a hastily chosen pair of boots - they fit but the leather was stiff - the order was completed.

"Mr Butler will soon have them softened up for you when we get back to Melbourne," Jack handed over payment for the items. The sales assistant wasn't particularly cheerful, it was just on closing time and Jack presumed he had somewhere to be, either home to his frustrated wife or to the pub before it closed. "Let's get back to the hotel and you can have a bath before we have dinner."

'Little' Jack pouted at the thought of a bath, he usually wiped his face with his rather grubby handkerchief soaked in the nearest, cleanest, puddle if he thought about washing at all! His memories of baths were being in a queue for a dip in the same water that the rest of the boys used. The Inspector grinned boys - such as his nephews - rarely thought bathing was an essential life skill.

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Phryne had enjoyed a lazy bath with rose scented crystals, washed and dried her hair and was wearing her robe when the 'boys' returned. She smiled at the way her Jack's hair had come loose from its pomade that he had returned to using and that they were both loaded down with bags and boxes.

"Successful?" she smiled, kissing Jack's cheek and ruffling 'Little' Jack's unruly and possibly fair, curls.

The boy shrugged, Jack put everything he was carrying down on the bed and slumped down next to it.

"What?" she laughed.

"When I offered to help I assumed that you, as an expert shopper, Phryne, would be taking the lead," he loosened his tie.

"You didn't do too bad, guv," 'Little' Jack grinned, "at least you didn't let that po faced shop assistant get the better of you."

He raised an eyebrow, "it was nearly closing time," he reminded him.

"Yeah, but, he made money so he should be happy," the huffed.

Phryne could see both their points but they had things to do before dinner, which she had ordered to be delivered to the room where they could eat in comfort.

"Now, young man," she folded her arms, "bath time."

"Urgh!" he groaned, "does I have to?"

"You do," she nodded seriously, "I'll run it for you then I'll wash your hair and back, and make sure you clean behind your ears and the back of your neck."

"You!" his eyebrows shot into his hairline, "but you're a girl, you can't see me in the altogether!"

Phryne burst out laughing while the Inspector gave a wry grin; he'd bathed his (real) nephews before, he would just have to do it for this little chap.

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The bath was warm, not too hot, the shampoo Jack used was his own, faintly pine scented, the soap was sandlewood and the sponge and flannel were soft; which was a good thing given what the Inspector saw on the underfed boy's skin. He did his best not to show his sorrow at the now dull red stripe across his skinny buttocks; the mark of a caning he supposed; there was a crooked scar on his knee; a badly healed cut from a fall, perhaps; and his left shin bone was not as straight as he would have expected; perhaps Dr Macmillan would be able to shed some light on it. He could now see why he had flinched when Phryne touched his arm in the train compartment - this boy had been beaten, his injuries had not been properly tended to - no wonder he had run away. He helped him out of the bath and wrapped a large soft towel round him and rubbed his hair dry. Released from the dirt and grease he had a head of red gold curls that gave him an angelic appearance, and he felt lighter than Jack expected and looked smaller, now he was out of the baggy clothes and naked.

"So, how was that, eh?" Jack smiled, "better than you expected?"

"S'ppose so," he almost smiled back, "warmer, at least ... and cleaner, we used to use the same water ... at the home."

"Ah," Jack hummed, "cold ...?"

'Little' Jack looked at him quizzically.

"When it was your turn," the Inspector continued, "the water."

He nodded.

"Well, warm, hot baths only at our house, where we would like you to come to stay."

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In the bedroom Phryne examined the clothes Jack had purchased. They were a good choice, she thought, not too expensive but good quality. There were things he would need for now, but when they got back to Melbourne she would extend his wardrobe. For now, his pyjamas were all he needed. She knocked on the bathroom door.

The door opened just enough for her to see Jack's face.

"Pyjamas," she handed the garments, "we're eating in the room."

"Ah, right," Jack nodded, "we need to speak, when he's asleep."

"Trouble?"

"Not as such," he smiled, "just concerns about his treatment - in the home."

She grimaced, "I'll ask Mac to look him over."

He nodded and disappeared back into the bathroom.

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'Little' Jack tried everything put in front of him, the fish, meats, pies - of which he seemed to be a bit of an aficionado - vegetables and fruits ... and a big glass of ice cold milk.

When he had finally finished he leant back against the back of the chair and sighed a contented sigh, rubbing his belly.

"Full?" Phryne asked, wiping her hands of the sweet pear juice.

"Ah ha," he nodded, "thanks."

"You're most welcome," she smiled, "glad to see you have a healthy appetite."

"Nah," he grinned, "I just likes me grub."

Jack laughed and smirked at Phryne. "That makes three of us," he patted his shoulder.

"So," 'Little' Jack broke the short silence, "what happens when we get to Melbourne, then?"

"We go to our house," Phryne sipped a glass of water, "I've been away for a long time so there will be a lot of hugs and, hopefully, shouts of joy. We'll set up a room for you, introduce you to the others in the house, my friends ..."

"Won't nobody mind?" he asked, "about me."

"They won't," Phryne was sure of that, "but we do have to speak to the authorities about you staying ..."

His face clouded.

"... they let me keep Jane before I was married, and that isn't usually allowed," she sought to assuage his worries, "but for that we do need to know which was the orphanage you were placed in, and your full name."

"What if they want me back?"

"Why would they want you to stay when I am offering you a home and an education?"

For that he didn't have an answer but he didn't remember any other child leaving with people who were going to look after them, or at all.

"Do you remember your full name, son?" the Inspector asked gently.

He shrugged, of course he did, it was just that everyone had called him Jack at the home.

"Jeremy Holbourne," he sighed, "nobody calls me that though. The other kids said it was a posh name."

"I like it," Phryne said with a smiled, "and I shall call you Jem."

"Why?"

"Well," she tipped her head, "it's an acceptable diminutive, and because the Inspector's name is Jack, if I call 'Jack!' through the house you will know it isn't you I want."

"What's a dimin ... dim ..." he scratched his head.

"Diminutive? Shortening, in this case a shortening of a name."

"Oh," he considered this, "do other people have this?"

"Plenty," she smiled, "now, Jem, it is time you went to bed, long day tomorrow."

"I thought all days were the same length," he grinned.

"Sharp as a tack, aren't you," Jack teased, "come on, I'll show you where you are sleeping and anything else you might need."

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Phryne was sitting in bed reading when Jack reappeared.

"Cheeky little chap, isn't he?" she marked her page and put the book on the nightstand.

"You and he should get along just fine," he laughed.

"Did he settle alright?"

"Wanted to know a bit about you, obviously unsure about his good fortune, if it is real." He undressed and headed into the bathroom for a quick bath, being the only one that had not had chance to do so before dinner.

Phryne thought about it, they didn't know the boy, but then they hadn't known Jane at first. He reminded her of herself as a youngster, stealing the odd pie or stale bun when she was hungry and her father had spent all his wages on booze. The fact that he had come back to them on the train and not run off with the money, which was more than he needed to pay for the pie he had made off with, in fact he had offered the change back to Jack, who had taken it as he should. Jack had taken to him, she could see that. He was cheeky and obviously bright so finding the right school was important; one that would play to his strengths and not try to turf out a dulled down but well educated young man.

Jack returned to the bedroom wearing his pyjama bottoms and rubbing his hair with a towel. Phryne instantly perked up at the sight and pulled the covers back.

"I hope we haven't rushed into this ... Jem ... another adoption," she slid down next to him and lay her head on his chest.

He raised an eyebrow, which she didn't see, she was far more interested in the stirrings below his waist.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" he gasped, she had her hand inside his pyjamas and was stroking him.

"Jus' a thought," she licked her lips, "now ..."

He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hello," he grumbled, staring deep into her eyes.

"Hi," she found herself blushing, "ahh," she sighed as his hands slipped under the silk of her nightdress and travelled up to palm her breast and thumb her raised nipple. She moaned into his mouth and pushed against his hardness. Their nightwear came off, that was part of the fun, lips, tongues and hands touched and tickled then Jack pulled her over him and she slid down him, relishing the heat between her legs. He thrust up, momentarily unbalancing her and she fell forward, her hands landing on his shoulders. Looking into his eyes she felt a surge of love still unfamiliar to her and her heart did a little flip of its own.

She pushed herself up and began a rhythm in time with Jack thrusting deep and hard. He held her by the waist, his hands almost completely encircling her, when she climaxed and arched her back and shuddered as the orgasm flooded her body. Jack followed her, groaning. She held him for as long as she could then flopped down to lie over him like a silk sheet. He pulled the covers over them and they drifted off to sleep.

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In his little room, next to the main bedroom, Jem had slept better than he had for as long as he could remember. He was warm, clean and well fed and it had made him sleepy. When he woke it was less of a shock than he thought it should be. The sun was just rising, a thin watery beam of light pushed between the curtains against the window; this was the time of day he would normally rise and start his hunt for food. He stretched, threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom, the first change to his daily routine, proper facilities. He used the toilet and even remembered to wash his hands. Back in his room he wondered what he should do next. His new clothes were in their room and he couldn't hear any stirrings from within. Perhaps people of quality didn't rise quite so early in the morning.

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Jack had heard the toilet flush and turned over. Phryne was curled up next to him, her hair over her face a few strands moving in the breeze of her breath. He looked at his watch and sighed - nearly six o'clock. Obviously Jem was used to rising early, as soon as the sun was up, but they didn't need to get up for some time yet. The train was at nine-forty five so they had at least another hour in bed. Phryne was not good at getting up in the morning, not when she had a comfortable bed and full facilities, camping; well she was up with the lark, or whichever native bird had disturbed them. A boy as bright as Jem was likely to get bored waiting for something to happen, perhaps he could be settled with some reading material. There was yesterday's paper or a Zane Grey from Jack's suitcase. It was a better alternative to the DH Lawrence Phryne was reading.

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"Jem?" Jack pushed the door open and saw the boy sitting on the bed leafing through a bible, thoughtfully left by some well meaning person.

"Mornin', guv," Jem looked up, "didn't want to disturb you."

"Very thoughtful of you," Jack smiled, "Phryne's not at her best in the morning. Thought you might like to read, until it's time to get dressed. I haven't got much for a youngster like you, but there is yesterday's paper and a novel you could try."

"Oh, right," he put the bible down, "I was wonderin'," he took the material, "ta."

"I'll give you a shout when it's time to wash and dress."

But Jem was already deep into 'Riders of the Purple Sage'.

Jack shook his head and smiled; he closed the door softly and left him to it.

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Phryne had turned over and spread herself over the bed. That was the trouble with getting out of the bed to attend to bodily functions, Phryne took over the bed. He squeezed onto the edge, lifted her arm and wriggled closer.

"Mmm." she hummed, "mornin'," but he couldn't be sure she was awake or not.

He stayed silent for a while waiting for more proof of her consciousness and there was - eventually.

"Jem awake?"

"Yes," he whispered, "he's reading."

"Time?"

"Half six, almost."

"Urgh!" she huffed.

"No need to get up just yet," he slipped down and wrapped his arms round her, "but would you like me to order some tea?"

She ran her tongue round her mouth and grimaced, "Please, I'll just ..." she pushed up and sat on the edge of the bed.

A brief wave of nausea swept over her, but it was mercifully over before it started. At least that side of pregnancy seemed not to trouble her too much.

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When they did decide they should rise Jack saw to Jem's ablutions and helped him dress. Phryne had a quick bath and dressed in black trousers, a white blouse and sea-green cardigan jacket that was both warm and elegant. They packed their things ready to be taken to the station and headed down to the restaurant for breakfast. Jem feasted well, again, choosing eggs and bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms followed by toast with a thick layer of marmalade. Jack ate similar and they both drank cups of tea. Phryne was pleased to see his table manners weren't too bad; he didn't reach over the table, or grab at food but he did slurp his tea and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. She frowned at him and showed him how to use his napkin. She washed down the last of her pancakes and fruit with a strong coffee satisfied that would do until they had some form of lunch from the buffet car on the way home.

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Jack purchased a ticket to Melbourne for Jem and a couple of comics to keep him occupied on the journey and they settled in a first class compartment. The boy sat by a window, at first gazing out at the landscape that sped past them then, when he'd had enough of that, when nothing really happened or changed, he stretched himself out on his stomach and started to read the comics. He occasionally lifted his feet up and crossed and uncrossed his ankles, but apart from that he was largely still.

Phryne opened her book and Jack his newspaper and there was little to bother them save the ticket inspector appearing to check their tickets and, as they were first class, ask if there was anything he could do for them. They declined his offer but thought they might head to the buffet car at some point.

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Phryne found her eyes drooping, she seemed to be needing to nap during the day. The book she was holding slipped onto her lap and she leant on Jack's shoulder. He flicked his paper closed and put his arm round her, feeling her settled into a light doze. The crossword was on the upper most side and he pulled a pen from his pocket and started to answer the clues.

Jem rolled and watched him. It was a vaguely familiar sight, something from years ago and something that touched him deep inside. The rhythm of the train soothed him but he was curious as to what the Inspector was writing in the paper. He sighed and pushed himself up, tipped his head and sighed. Jack watched him out of the corner of his eye, and tried not to smile. Jem set his comics neatly on the seat and stepped across to sit next to him, not too close, not close enough to touch, and casually looked over at the paper. He frowned to see the black and white checkerboard of the crossword, with some of the white squares filled in with letters in the Inspector's distinctive script.

"What're you doin'?"

"The crossword," Jack shifted in his seat.

"How d'ye do that?"

"There are clues here," he pointed to the side of the grid, "which you have to solve and then write in the grid. Letters from one word will help with solving another clue - see here 'Left on the doorstep.' Well that could be many things but 'milk' is the obvious answer so I put it in here," he shadowed his pen across the word, "then I look for another clue I can solve so ... perhaps this one which will use the 'L' from milk. 'Loved by Anthony,' well, that has to be Cleopatra she was Anthony's love and the 'C' will sit in this square before the 'L' of milk ..." he filled in the answer.

"Oh," Jem pursed his lips, "so how do you know the answers."

"Ah well," Jack grinned, "that can be down to education, reading or just plain luck."

Jem thought for a moment, then, "Who was this Anthony fella?"

"He was a Roman general," Jack paused, "and Cleopatra was Queen of Egypt. They met and fell in love."

"School?" Jem frowned.

"'Fraid so," Jack grinned, "not always rules and regulations; there's history and science, mathematics, geography, all manner of interesting things to learn."

"Last I went all we did was recite stuff," he sighed, "mainly from the bible, but nobody would tell me how a dead body can be alive again."

"Ah, well ..." Jack remembered asking the same question himself, he never got a satisfactory answer, either and now Mac would say it isn't possible anyway. "... technically it isn't possible. That's faith for you, a belief, a way to explain things."

"Do you believe in God?"

"I suppose I believe there is a higher being, but it's hard sometimes, when he lets such bad things happen, like war and murder." Jack found it easy to talk on a philosophical level with a child, it was a lot easier than arguing with a catholic and a protestant.

"In the bible, God flooded the world because people did bad things, didn't he?" Jem had moved to lean closer, "when he told Noah to build the ark."

"He did, and I suppose you could look at it that way, with war - but murder?"

"Oh, yeah," he heaved a sigh, "I suppose some people are just born bad."

"Maybe." Jack agreed.

Jem tried to help Jack with the crossword but in the end he too dozed off, laying his head in Jack's lap, with the paper over him.

Jack stared into space for a while. This boy had struck a chord with him, the moment he had set eyes on him running from the guard. Phryne had said he should have a son, and this boy could be that, but she was expecting their own child and if it was a boy how would Jem feel - if it was a girl, how would Jane feel? It was all starting to become a little complicated. He had accepted the way she talked about 'our' house, and 'my husband' and it had filled him with something he couldn't put a name to - 'love' wasn't strong enough - but whatever it was he felt his heart may burst at any minute.

The ticket inspector passed and looked into the compartment, as a family man himself he thought it quite something to see the man with one arm around his beautiful wife and the other over his son, protectively, but he was never going to get anything to eat that way and it was well into the dinner time of day. He knocked gently on the door. Jack looked up and nodded that he should enter.

"Can I get you anything, sir," he tipped his head to the sleeping forms of Phryne and Jem, "only you seem to have your hands full."

"Thank you," Jack whispered, "some tea and sandwiches would be welcome, perhaps cake?"

"I'll see what I can do, sir," he saluted with one finger to his cap and disappeared from view.

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The rattle of cups on the tray and Jack shifting slightly alerted Phryne and Jem to the food being served. Her stomach rumbled and she felt faintly light-headed as she pushed herself off Jack. He noticed her slightly pale face but knew if he commented she would deny it.

"Tea?" he passed her a cup with a little sugar, which she didn't usually take.

"Lovely," she smiled, "have we all been asleep?"

"Only you and Jem," he passed the boy a glass of milk thoughtfully provided by the guard, "hence the compartment service." He motioned Jem to help himself to sandwiches and quiche.

"Sorry, not very exciting travelling companions are we?" she smiled and sipped the tea, already feeling more grounded.

"Peace and quiet to do the crossword, though Jem did try to help in the beginning."

"Did you now?" she raised an eyebrow at him, "you are honoured, Jack doesn't usually let anyone interfere with his crossword."

"Not even you, Miss?" Jem paused in demolishing another sandwich.

"Especially not me," she grinned.

"She makes silly suggestions," he frowned, not adding some of them were very rude!

"Oh," he mused for a moment, "do your answers fit? Only the Inspector showed me that the words have to fit ... together."

"Usually," she shrugged and helped herself to a piece of cake.

Jem thought about that and decided it was probably a grown up thing that he didn't need to know about - yet.

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The train pulled into the station and Dot stood on the platform looking up and down for her mistress and the Inspector. Mr Butler was outside with the car and the red raggers were standing by to drive the luggage back. When Phryne had phoned to say she was on her way home, with Jack, that they were man and wife and that what they had presumably read in the papers was true. She also remembered to tell her that another room was required, for a boy child, was how she put it.

"I'll explain everything when I see you, Dot dear," she had laughed, "things are changing, for the good, I believe ... yes, I do believe they are."

So now Dorothy Collins, nee Williams, stood excitedly waiting for Miss Fisher - sorry Mrs Fisher Robinson - to present herself and prove she was alright. And there she was, smiling and waving and nudging the Inspector. A boy stood with them, curly blond hair and a bemused expression. The Inspector bent to her and seemed to whisper something. She looked up at him and kissed his cheek before skipping down to the platform and running to her companion.

She wrapped her arms round her dear friend and breathed in the scent of Attar of Roses. She leant back to look at her, the same sweet face, but different - serene.

"Oh Dot!" she exclaimed, "I _have_ missed you, how are you? How's married life?"

"Good to see you, Miss," Dot smiled softly, "I'm well and married life is good, Hugh sends his regards and is sorry he wasn't able to be here."

"He's got to keep the streets safe," Phryne grinned, "perhaps he will be over later."

"Oh yes, Miss. Now, let's get you home you must be tired after your journey."

"I had a nap," Phryne giggled, "but first you must meet the newest addition to our household," she turned and waved Jem over, "this is Jem - Jem, this is Mrs Collins, my companion and friend."

"Hello," Jem hummed, then, remembering his manners, held out his hand.

"Hello, Jem," Dot smiled and wondered where a stray child would have got such good manners. She shook his hand. "Now, the car is outside with Mr Butler and Cec and Bert are ..." she looked across the platform, "ah, there they are," the two cabbies had wandered in to see if they could do anything and were now helping the Inspector collect the luggage.

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"Alright, Robinson," Bert grunted round his customary cigarette, "know we asked you to bring her back, didn't expect you to marry her," he glared as if it was the wrong thing to do.

Jack shrugged, he knew they were protective of his wife, "we made the decision together, Albert," he placed the last case on the luggage trolley, "you know I wouldn't be able to get her to do something she didn't want to."

"That's the truth," Cec nodded, "who's the kid?"

"Jem, we are hoping to have him placed with us, like Jane was, or even full adoption," Jack tipped the guard. "Actually," he tipped his head, "we might need your help to find out more about him."

"Right-ho," Bert and Cec fell into step pushing the trolley, "what do we know?"

"Orphan, ran away from the home, real name Jeremy Holbourne, we call him Jem; Phryne's idea; I think he's from a reasonable home. Reads well for his age, knows how to behave in the main ..."

"So, kid's homes, orphanages, and Holbourne," Cec hummed, "accent?"

"Not Collingwood, possibly Elwood ..." Jack thought about that.

"Home - the one he ran from?" Cec was storing up as much information as he could.

"We've got to get that out of him, yet," Jack admitted, "or what happened to his parents."

As they approached the rest of the party they stopped the discussion and busied themselves loading luggage and persons into the two cars.

Mr Butler didn't bat an eyelid at the little family, just nodded his head to his Mistress and new Master, said how happy he was they were back safe and sound, and greeted the boy as if he had always been there.

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Jem's eyes had widened in awe at the sight of the gleaming automobile and he ran his finger over the leather upholstery as his climbed into the back seat with Mr Butler and Dot. Phryne had taken the keys and Jack sat next to her placing his hat on his lap as he thought it might fly off as she drove.

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Jem had yet to catch his breath when they drew up in front of Wardlow and he swallowed as he took in the elaborate ironwork, the shining brass letterbox and handle.

"Welcome home, Jem," Phryne was out of the car before he had chance to close his mouth.

"This is where you live?" he gasped.

"This is it," she grinned.

"Wow!"

Mr Butler stepped out of the car and held the door for Jem.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered.

"No need for 'sir', Master Jem," the butler smiled, "Mr Butler will do."

"Oh, okay," he nodded, at some point in time he would wake up and find this was all a dream.

"There's someone at the door, Miss," Dot noted, nodding her head in that direction as she followed Jem.

Jack looked up as Phryne frowned.

"Oh," he mused, "mother. How did she know we were coming home?"

"She's the mother of a detective," Phryne slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, "perhaps it's where you get your detecting skills from."

"Hm," he shrugged, "she always did know what I was up to, before I had done it."

"Ah, and you did telegram to tell her you had married, again." Phryne nodded, straightened her back and prepared to meet her mother in law.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack took a deep breath. He loved his mother and she him, but they usually disagreed on his choice of female companionship. She hadn't hated Rosie, but she hadn't liked her either. They were cordial to each other when they met so Jack had been at pains to keep them apart for most of his marriage. Mrs Robinson, snr, had thought Rosie a social climber and only interested in pushing Jack to the level of Commissioner - eventually. His mother was just happy he was a good policeman and worked hard. When he had returned from the war he had been broken and Rosie hadn't understood. She had; her brother had returned from the Boer War a broken man, scarred from the incident at Rorke's drift. She had brought him to Australia when she married Jack's father and he had decided that Australia was the place for an engineer. David Williams, Mrs Robinson's brother, had drifted from one dead end job to another until he had died in a mining accident. For years she blamed herself for this, that if she hadn't brought him to a new country he would have been safe. Her husband had disagreed saying that wherever David went he would have been unhappy, he had lost friends at that dreadful battle, the whole thing, including Isandlwana where he had also served, had dragged him to the depths of despair. When David died and his effects were gone through, not that there was much, they found a bank book and a letter stating that all that was saved was to go to his nephew: "your parents are the best people I could have ever had the pleasure to know, Jack, I can't live up to their expectations but I know you will be able to, one day. Live well, be strong and most of all believe in yourself. Your loving uncle, David." Jack had barely known his uncle, he was a distant figure, but he had resolved to do the best he could to honour a brave man. He hadn't touched the money until recently and then not all of it, it had sat in the account and grown with the interest on it, the interest had been enough to fund the rest of the trip that Mrs Stanley had started for him. Now he was to introduce his mother to his new wife - this could be interesting.

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All Dilys Robinson knew of the new Mrs Robinson was that she was a socialite and to her that meant drinking, dancing and racy goings on. Phryne Fisher had been photographed with men of questionable habits, a Chinaman, _and _her son in an awkward situation during a murder investigation. She had been mentioned in the papers in connection with communists and a variety show. Dilys Robinson was a Welsh methodist and did not approve of drinking, even her Scots husband's nightly nip of whisky was met with tutting and pursed lips, yet she had loved him because he had loved her and her foibles, her prudence, and he had kept her well, their fortunes had grown well enough and they had been able to afford to send Jack to a decent school and live in a nice house in Richmond. Their other child, a girl, Meredith, had married well and given them two lovely grandsons, so, all in all, even though she was now widowed, Mrs Dilys Robinson was a happy and contented woman. Until now ...

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"Mother," Jack held out his arms, "I didn't expect you today."

"Hm," she mused, "you mean you thought you could sneak back into the country without me knowing." She offered her cheek for him to kiss.

"Now, now," he teased, "we would have invited you over to tea once we had settled in."

"But she's here, now," Phryne smiled, "and we shall have tea." She turned to Mr Butler, "please, Mr B, if you would ..."

"Of course, Mrs Fisher-Robinson," Mr Butler nodded, "and Mrs Collins has been baking in honour of your return."

"Lovely," Phryne bestowed her brightest smile and unlocked to door. "Home, oh how I've missed it." She took off her hat and fluffed her hair, "beautiful flowers, Dot," she remarked noticing the fresh blooms in the vase.

"Not out of the garden, yet, I'm afraid, Miss," Dot called past the others, "still not ready."

"Ah, well, they're beautiful anyway," Phryne smiled and turned to Jack's mother, "please come in, it would seem Jack isn't going to introduce us," she help out her hand, "Phryne, pleased to meet you, at last."

"Yes," Dilys took her hand and noticed the gentle but firm grip, "at last indeed," she cast a glance at her son.

Jack rolled his eyes and decided that, as usual, Phryne had the situation in hand so he would see to the luggage and Jem, who was standing in the hall looking around.

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"This is your room, Jem," Dot opened a door on the landing, "the bathroom is just there," she pointed across from where they stood.

"Just for me?" he peered inside, "a whole room to myself?"

"Yes," she drew him in, "the bed, of course, your clothes will go in here and you can put books on the shelves, or ... well anything you want, really." Dot smiled and sat down on the bed, "sit and I'll tell you a bit about Mrs Fisher Robinson."

He sat next to her and she told him how she had come to work for Phryne, about the red raggers and Jane. It made him feel a bit more sure about things.

"Now," Dot ruffled his curls, "let's go down to the kitchen and see if there are some biscuits left, eh?"

"Ok, thanks, Mrs Collins," he stood up, "by the way, where is Jane?"

"At school, Miss Phryne would not approve of her taking time off from her education, she'll be home just after five."

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In the kitchen all was peaceful. Mr Butler had served tea in the parlour to Jack and Phryne and Mrs Robinson and was just setting places for himself, Dot and Jem. Given that Jane spent a lot of time in the kitchen and there would be things discussed in the parlour that weren't for young ears he had decided that was the best way to go about things.

Jem started to open up to these two good people, particularly Dot. He told them what he had already told the two detectives and added in a few more details. He couldn't say what the name of the home he had run away from was called but,

"I might be able to find it," he took a third biscuit, "these are lovely Mrs Collins ..."

"Thank you, Jem, they are a particular favourite of the Inspector's," Dot smiled.

"... they won't want me back, will they - the home?"

"Why would they?" Mr Butler paused as he dunked a biscuit in his tea, his only vice, "if someone wants to adopt a child they are supposed to check out the home first and the suitability, and then the child goes to that home to be raised as part of the family. They only take you back if it doesn't work - that won't happen here, not even if you pinch the silver."

"That's stealin'," Jem looked aghast, "that's wrong, I ain't never stole anythin' like that, just pies from the pie cart, 'n' that's only if I can't find anythin' else."

"In that case may I be the first to welcome you to the family, Jem," Mr Butler smiled.

"The Inspector said they'd have to speak to Welfare," Jem looked glum.

"Jem, don't worry," Dot patted his hand, "everything will be fine, Miss Phryne will make sure of it."

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In the parlour Phryne was well aware she was being judged as to her fitness to be the wife of Jack Robinson. Dilys Robinson was a small, severe looking woman with her grey hair drawn back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She had bright blue eyes that darted round the room before settling on the young woman before her. Her skin was soft, she wore little if any make up, perhaps a light dusting of face powder, her mouth was small but Phryne thought there was a smile lurking there, somewhere. She wore a burgundy dress, drop-waisted with a pleated skirt, high neck and long sleeves - it suited her.

As Jack had moved off to see to things Phryne had mouthed 'Coward!" at him before she led her mother in law into the parlour.

"Please, do sit down, I hope you haven't been waiting too long," Phryne waved to a seat and perched on the chaise longue opposite.

"I knew what time the train would arrive," Dilys hummed, "so not too long."

"But the day?"

"Jack told me, in his telegram, that he would be home at the end of the week, which means Friday, so here I am," she pursed her lips.

"Now I know where he gets his detecting skills from," Phryne smiled. "He did say you always knew what he was up to before he had actually been up to anything."

"So, what do you, a dilettante socialite, want with my son?"

'Straight to the point,' Phryne thought, "that's what George Sanderson called me," she spoke out loud.

"Pah! that man," Dilys almost spat a bad taste out of her mouth, "couldn't detect his way out of a paper bag. Thought himself above the rest of us and then what does he turn out to be - nothing but a common criminal, trading in young girls ..."

"It was truly dreadful, "Phryne agreed, "horrific and I don't think we got to all of them in time."

"You were involved?" her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

"Yes, we worked the case together," Phryne nodded, "Jack saved my life, Fletcher was just about to put a bullet in me when Jack shot him and sent him over the side of the ship ..." she shuddered.

There was a silence as Dilys processed this.

"You don't just play at this, do you?"

"No she doesn't," Jack entered the room with Mr Butler close behind him, bearing a tray of tea, biscuits scones and small cakes.

"Ah, there you are," Phryne smiled broadly, "wondered where you had run off to."

"Ha!" he snorted, "just sorting out the luggage with the cabbies, and updating them on things. Where's Jem?"

"I believe Dorothy has taken him to his room and to show him where things are," Mr Butler placed the tray on the table, "she will take him to the kitchen for biscuits and milk."

"Excellent," Phryne started to pour tea, "help yourself, Mrs Robinson," she waved at the dainties, "Dot is quite an expert with biscuits and scones."

"Jem?" Dilys questioned.

"A little boy we intend to adopt, mother," Jack shot Phryne a look that said that was all she needed to know about him, "Phryne has an adopted daughter as well."

"I see," Dilys didn't know where the children had come from but the fact they wanted to give two, she presumed, orphans a home put Phryne up in her estimation.

They continued to talk about their adventures, Phryne was on her best behaviour and didn't make unseemly jokes or remarks about some of the people they had dealt with on their travels.

Dilys had noticed a change in her son since he had divorced, he had seemed lighter and she was beginning to see that this bright young woman had something to do with this. She began to understand more when they talked about travelling in an old ambulance and Jack remarked that she remembered how to drive one through rough terrain.

"And why would that be?" she frowned.

"I drove one during the war," Phryne put her cup down and took Jack's hand, "I was an ambulance driver and nurse."

Dilys relaxed, it all became clear. The reason Phryne Fisher had brought her son back to who she remembered him to be was that she knew exactly what he had been through.

When they had finished and Dilys was about to take her leave Jack said he would take her home.

"You need to see to things here, Cariad," she touched his hand, "I came by tram I can go home by tram."

"Nonsense," Phryne tutted, "Jack, are the cabbies still here?"

"Probably making inroads into the biscuit tin," he laughed and headed into the kitchen.

"Thank you, Phryne," Dilys smiled, "for bringing my son back. Rosie never understood him, especially after he came back."

"He grounds me, Mrs Robinson ..."

"Dilys, please."

"... Dilys, and I don't want him to be something he isn't. I fell in love with Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and I am still falling." She bent and kissed her cheek, "come by again, please, you can tell me about him as a child."

"Ah, such stories," Dilys nodded.

Jack escorted his mother to the taxi, her hand through the crook of his elbow. She had to look up to speak to him, he got his height from his father.

"Much better choice, Jack," she murmured, "I like her, different to how I imagined her, strong, clever, a good foil for you son."

"I think so, but, she took some catching." He smiled and kissed her cheek as he handed her into the car and gave the address.

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Phryne had draped herself over the chaise when he returned. She must be exhausted, he thought, it was typical of his mother to turn up like that when all he wanted to do was help her settle in and update the residents of 221B on the situation, the changes, bathe, dine and go to bed to sleep ... perchance to dream.

"Sorry," he murmured in her ear, "I really didn't think she would turn up like that."

"Did I pass?" she sighed.

"Huh?"

"Pass the test? Am I fit to be your wife?"

At first he thought she was serious and possibly troubled at the scrutiny, but then he noticed the tiny twitch of the corner of her mouth as she tried not to smile.

"Flying colours," he kissed her forehead, "she thinks you are a good foil for me."

"Oh, right," she sat up a little, "good, she's protective of you, Jack."

"Yes, well, mother's you know," he slipped in behind her and let her lounge over his chest, "she and Rosie didn't get along, mum thought she was pushing me where I didn't want to go, all the way to commissioner."

"You will, one day, but in your own sweet time," she sighed, "when you are ready. Until then I am just happy that you do what you do, paperwork and politics won't suit you."

He agreed, he didn't want to line his pockets with bribes and blind eyes, justice was what he sought for the victims of crime.

Of course they still had to talk to the rest of their found family, and as Jane was due back from school they decided that dinner would be the best time to discuss things. Until then, a bath, unpack and perhaps a nap?

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Jane was fizzing when she arrived home from school. The red raggers had picked her up from school and driven her post haste to Wardlow.

She burst through the front door, thrust her books onto the hall stand and took in the changes. The Inspector's hat and coat were hanging next to a cloche hat and there was a faint scent of something familiar. She could hear muffled voices coming from the parlour and opened the door. Phryne was sitting on the chaise with Jack, and a strange boy was sitting in a chair opposite them with a book in his hand.

"Jane!" Phryne jumped up and the girl launched herself into Phryne's arms and hugged her tight.

"Oh Miss Phryne!" Jane gasped and held her at arm's length, "I have missed you sooo much!"

Phryne laughed and admitted she had missed her in return, "I do believe you've grown," she looked her up and down.

"I have, Aunt Prudence was quite aghast at the length of my dresses, she insisted she buy me new ones." Jane held out the skirt of her uniform dress and twirled round, "she's been dreadfully sweet."

"I'm glad," Phryne drew her to sit down between her and Jack, "now, I take it Dot has told you our news?"

"Oh yes, it's wonderful," Jane enthused though she was not one for romantics, "congratulations." She grinned at Jack and squeezed his arm. He grinned back at her and pressed her hand.

"Now, Jane, we'd like you to meet Jem, Jem is going to join our family."

"Is he now," Jane pursed her lips, "and what did you do to come to the attention of Miss Phryne and the Inspector?" she teased.

"Er," he looked at Phryne for support, "I, um, nicked a pie." He blushed furiously at his admission.

"A pie, eh?" Jane hummed and gave this some thought, "well, better than me, I was caught with jewellery."

Jem's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Jane was coerced, Jem," Jack sighed, "the people she lived with made her do it."

"Oh, people do that?" he gasped.

"Sadly, some do," Phryne nodded, "but that's all behind her now, just as you will never need to pinch a pie again."

"Phew," he swallowed, "that's good."

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Dinner was to be an informal affair, it was not fair to push Jem into the formality of a meal with several layers of cutlery and different glasses so Mr Butler set out a buffet spread of magnificent proportions. It was even more varied than the one they had had in their room in Sydney. The talked and laughed but mainly listened to the stories Jack and Phryne had to tell about their travels and adventures, the cases in Rome and Palestine and the people they met. Dot was amazed that not only had they met and had an audience with his holiness but that Phryne knew him from years ago.

"What's he like, Miss?" she asked, clearly in awe.

"He's a good man, Dot," Phryne smiled, "clever, open-minded ..."

"When you met him, in Poland ..." Dot hardly dared to ask.

"It's all right, Dot, I didn't corrupt him," Phryne laughed, but she understood why Dot would ask.

Jem looked from one to the other and decided he'd never understand grown-ups, they speak in code. Still, if they fed him like this every day, or even twice a week, he could be happy with these people - he tucked into another piece of Mr Butler's sublime apple pie.

The red raggers had also been invited to dine with them and they discussed the case of Jem's family.

"We'll ask around," Cec agreed, "but we could do with knowing which part of the city you used to live in, lad."

Jem shook his head, he'd been at the orphanage since he was about four, he thought, and he had no idea what his father did.

"I think I could tell you which home, though, if I saw it," he tipped his head to one side, "if you promise not to take me back inside."

"No chance of that, kid," Bert grunted, "we'll jus' pop inside an' ask if they remember a Holbourne kid. When did you escape?"

Jem liked that Bert referred to it as an escape, as if he had been held prisoner and he remembered spending two Christmas' on the outside ..."

"So about eighteen months, perhaps?" Phryne wondered. Jem shrugged, one day, one week, one month - they all blended into one.

"Right, tomorrow then?" Bert drained his beer.

"Afternoon, please, Bert," Phryne nodded, "I want Dr Macmillan to check him over," mindful of what Jack had told her about the marks on his body and the misaligned shin bone. She did not add it might be a good idea if Mac gave her a check up too, and Jack did not mention it, either. Nobody else needed to know about the baby she carried - yet.

"Why do I need to see a doctor?" Jem scowled.

"Just to check your general health, Jem," Phryne smiled, "she will tell me if there is anything I need to feed you, you are a bit on the skinny side ..."

"I won't be if you keep feedin' me like this," he laughed.

"That's the plan," she agreed.

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Dr Macmillan was just about to leave for the women's hospital when her phone rang. She sighed, this usually meant a crime scene or an emergency, "Macmillan," she barked down the receiver.

"Love you too, Mac," the sultry tones of one Mrs Fisher Robinson floated down the line and into her ear.

"Wha'? Phryne? No!"

"Indeed, 'tis I, dear doctor," Phryne was in a good mood that morning considering the hour. "I was wondering if you could schedule a visit to Wardlow, we have a new addition to the family, stay for lunch if you like."

"Right," she rolled her eyes, "why am I not surprised, but first, are you Mrs Fisher Robinson or Miss Fisher? I read the papers you know and Dot spoke to me."

"Depends why you're askin'," Phryne giggled.

"Blast you woman!" Mac huffed, "alright, Mrs Fisher Robinson, I'll be over eleven-ish."

"Toodle pip," Phryne laughed and put the phone down. "One extra for lunch Mr B!" she called through, "Mac will be joining us!"

"Of course she will, Miss," Mr Butler didn't turn a hair, things were back to normal.

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In his office in City South, Jack was musing on Jem's origins. He was sure he wasn't just another abandoned child, something had happened to his family and Jack wanted to know what. Working on Jem's approximate age of ten years he had two young constables help him start to go through all the murder, suspicious death and accidental death files for the last ten years. A lot were closed whether solved or not depending on who was running the station and the force at any given time. Many of these years were covered by George Sanderson, Jack's ex-father in law and he liked a quick turn-around, not too fussy about who he convicted either.

"You are looking for the name 'Holbourne'," Jack instructed them, "anything at all with that name make detailed notes, keep the file to one side ..."

"Sir," they both nodded, neither dared to ask why he was so interested in a child's beginnings and he didn't enlighten them, not yet.

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"So," Mac let Mr Butler take her hat and bag while she hugged her dearest friend, "taking in another stray, are we, darling?"

"You'll like him ..."

"A boy, well that should balance things nicely," Mac grinned, "where did this one come from?"

"Well, on that we're not sure," Phryne preceded her into the parlour, "he was caught pinching a pie from the buffet car on the train. He'd fallen asleep in the guard's van overnight and ended up in Sydney. Jack claimed him as his nephew and now he's here with us, waiting for you and Welfare."

"So why do you want me to look him over," she sat down and accepted a cup of tea, "surely he's alright, isn't he, I mean not ..."

"As boys go he seems quite well, a little skinny, but Jack gave him a bath and he has some marks from canings, he thinks, and an odd shaped shin, as if it hasn't been set properly. It doesn't seem to bother him, his movement is good and he can run like the wind."

"Jack gave him a bath?" Mac was intrigued, but then if Phryne had done the bath she would have been just as surprised.

"He wouldn't let me, I'm a girl and shouldn't see a boy in the altogether, was how he put it." Phryne grinned at the memory of the horrified look on Jem's face.

"Boy has he got a lot to learn," Mac grumbled. "Right, let's have a look at the lad, then."

Phryne went to the door and called through to Mr Butler to fetch young Jem to the parlour, please.

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Jem appeared at the door unsure what to expect - what he didn't expect was a woman dressed like a man talking to Miss Phryne.

"Ah, Jem," Phryne held out her hand to him and smiled gently. "This is my best friend, Dr Macmillan. She would like to examine you, see the marks the Inspector saw when he bathed you and also your leg."

Jem scowled, "you mean I have to take me clothes off?" he wrapped his arms round himself.

"Well," Mac sat up and smiled, "it'll be hard to see the marks if you don't, I won't hurt you, I promise, and only down to your undershorts."

"I've got a stripe across me backside," Jack put his hands protectively on his buttocks, "got caught nickin' another piece of bread. They pulled down your pants and belted you wiv a thin hot rod."

"You mean they burned you?" Phryne was horrified.

"Only one of 'em, t'others jus' used a cane," he shrugged as if it was all perfectly normal.

"Oh Jem," Phryne covered her mouth as tears sprung to her eyes, "I promise you that no one in this house will raise a finger to you, there are better ways to discipline a child than by brutality."

"She means it, son," Mac added softly, "she's been there."

He looked at them both; so far he had been treated well, he'd been fed, bought smart clothes, given a room of his own and met kind people, so, even though the doctor was a woman perhaps he could trust them not to do anything they shouldn't when they examined him.

"Ok, then," he sighed, "but I'm keepin' me drawers on."

Mac and Phryne grinned and helped him out of his grey flannels, pullover, shirt and tie, and singlet.

Mac used the gentlest of touches with one finger, in the main. She hummed and pursed her lips, noted some things in her notepad that she would transfer into his patient file when she set it up.

"Now, lad," she ran her pinky finger down his bent shin, "how did this happen, eh?"

Jem shrugged and looked down, "Got into a scrap," he mumbled, "another lad. He was hitting the girls, you don't do that, hit girls, it's not right." He straightened up and clenched his fists, "he pushed me down the stairs. I woke up in a bed and it was all bandaged up. Hurt like hell," he scowled, "for ages."

"Were you looked after in a hospital?" Mac paused.

"Nah," he huffed, "they didn't take us there, stayed in the other place, where they kept all the sick kids."

Mac rolled her eyes and asked him to walk to the door and back. He seemed to have no alteration to his gait, the leg was obviously growing as much as the other one and really all she could do would be to break it again and re set it straight and even then she wasn't sure it would be the right thing to do.

"Well, young man," she smiled, "apart from being a bit on the skinny side, and a bit battered I pronounce you fit and well. Your leg is growing the same and the other one, so at the moment I don't propose to do anything with it. If it does become a problem, then - we'll see."

"Right," he gave her a sidelong look, "can I put me togs back on, please?"

They let him dress and Phryne re-tied his tie then let him go back to whatever he was doing.

What he was doing was handing Bert tools while he tuned up the engine on the taxi and asking all kinds of questions.

"You keep away from the mucky bits, Master Jem," he grunted round his cigarette, "don't want Miss Fisher getting cross if you get those nice clothes covered in oil."

"Right-o, Mr Bert," he grinned, "what's that bit do?" He pointed to another part of the engine and Bert launched into another discourse on the internal combustion engine.

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Back in the parlour Phryne was trying to get round to asking Mac if she would mind giving her a quick check-up but somehow the words wouldn't quite come out. She chattered on about things they did on their journey home, what she had done, who she had seen, but Mac could see right through her, there was something bothering her friend.

"Alright, Mrs Fisher-Robinson, or whatever you're calling yourself," she stopped her, "what do you want?"

"Nothing," Phryne feigned surprised, "nothing at all."

"Pah!" Mac snorted, "I know you and I know you want me to do something, I just hope it's legal."

"Oh, you cut me to the quick, I thought you were a friend," Phryne put her hand over her heart.

"Phryne, love," Mac's voice was soft and gentle and she took her hand, "what's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," she got up and walked over to the fireplace, "really." Why was this so difficult? She was never more grateful for the phone to ring.

"Excuse me, Miss," Mr Butler poked his nose in the room, "the Inspector for Dr Macmillan."

"Oh ... oh, right," Phryne took a moment to focus.

"Back in a tick," Mac jumped up wondering if she could get Jack to tell her what was eating Phryne.

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"Ah, good, Mac," Jack hummed from his office, "I have an old murder I want your eyes on, six years ago. I have the file and the autopsy pictures ..."

"Why are you digging into old murders?" she huffed, "aren't there enough new ones about?"

"Yes, well, this is Jem, I think. I'm trying to find out his story, so when we call in welfare we are sure he doesn't have a family looking for him. How is he, by the way?"

"Tip top," Mac grinned, "just needs feeding up. The leg seems ok, doesn't affect his walking but he shouldn't have been beaten so severely, apparently they used a hot metal rod on his backside."

"Bastards," Jack grumbled, it was rare he swore.

"Quite, er, while I'm on," she lowered her voice, "what's up with Phryne? I know she wants something, it's just she won't tell me."

"Oh, well ... just give her a quick check up, please," he daren't tell her the truth but during a quick exam the truth might come out, "we've had a long journey, quite tiring."

"R i ght," she hummed "Send over the file and I'll have a look at it."

"Thanks, Mac," he signed off and continued reading the one file they had on the murder of Mrs Isabel Holbourne by her husband who was hanged for the crime - but something didn't add up. The case was closed too quickly, the statements brief and he denied it right up until they put the noose round his neck. The neighbours said they heard nothing, the Holbourne's were a quiet couple and their son was such a dear cheeky little soul.

According to the file, Mr Holbourne said he left home early that fateful morning to go to his place of work; he was an office manager at an import export business; that Jack noticed was no longer in operation. He returned home just after twelve midday, as he did every day, to have a quick lunch with his wife and child, after which he would return to the office until six in the evening. This particular day he found the front door open and on entering the hallway he found his wife face down on the floor with a gash to the back of her head - she was quite cold and stiff. His four year old son was in the kitchen, crying, trying desperately to open the door.

The police were called, the boy was ripped from his father's arms and placed in the care of Welfare, Mr Holbourne was arrested at the scene and apart from a few inquiries at the office where he worked that was it.

Jack looked at the arresting officer, not someone he knew, but it was around the time of the Police Strike and he may have been otherwise engaged at the time. He knew he was only kept on in the force because his father in law was the deputy commissioner and he was a good officer with a great clean up rate. That aside, he would have handled the case differently. What did the people in his office say about him? Did he have an alibi for his whereabouts for the time of his wife's death.? So many questions seemed to be left unasked and unanswered.

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While Jack was perusing the file Mac was chivvying her friend up the stairs to her bedroom for a 'quick check up'. She did all the usual, eyes, ears, pulse, blood pressure, reflexes; which always made Phryne giggle; asked about her digestive health and then the one Phryne wasn't sure she wanted her to ask-

"Menses?"

"Ah, well, you see ..." Phryne blushed.

"Phryne ..."

"It's just that, well, when I boarded the ship in India the pain was phenomenal but there wasn't much to show for it."

"I see ... device?"

"Not always, Jack was told it was his fault he and Rosie didn't have children, said it was a blow to his masculinity ... anyway, I have a craving for sweet, sometimes overripe, fruit ..."

Mac made a note of all this, "anymore spotting?"

"None," Phryne lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

"Is this why you got married?" Mac was surprised she hadn't found a doctor that would see to the problem, marrying Jack Robinson was the last thing she thought Phryne would do.

"Yes, and no," Phryne continued staring upwards, "everybody thought we already were, all the hotels made the assumption, people we met and it became - normal. When we were at the residency in India and the journalist wanted to tell our story we knew it would come out - we couldn't suddenly say we weren't married, more for his reputation - and, you know, Mac, I quite like being Mrs Fisher Robinson."

"So when did this momentous occasion take place?"

"Beginning of this week, Sydney, short and sweet, just for the paperwork."

Mac shook her head, she should know not to expect the ordinary from Phryne.

"Right, I'll draw some blood and arrange regular appointments for you, any idea when you conceived?"

About six weeks ago, maybe," she shrugged.

"Who knows?"

"You, me and Jack."

"I suppose you'll let people know when you want them to know, but Dot will find out soonest, she'll have to let out your clothes."

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Bert stormed into the kitchen, followed by Cec and Jem.

Mr Butler took in the scene, one eyebrow raised and reached for the first aid kit. Bert had a cut under his left eye and a burgeoning bruise on his jawline. Jem's coat was torn and he had a red slap mark on his right cheek, Cec seemed to be unscathed until Mr B spotted his knuckles - he'd been in a fight. They had been out to find the home Jem had been taken to when his father had been arrested and they had, and that was where the trouble started. Bert was only going to ask if they had any information on a little boy known as Jeremy Holbourne ...


	6. Chapter 6

Jem sat between Bert and Cec on the front seat of the taxi. Melbourne looked different from this angle, better than his usual view from the pavement. They started at the orphanage furthest away from Wardlow which Jem was positive he had never been in. As they progressed through the city, stopping outside the orphanages, there weren't many and some were bigger than others, Jem would get out and look up at the buildings, shake his head and climb back into the car.

"Maybe I won't remember," he mused, "maybe Miss Phryne won't be able to keep me."

"That won't stop her," Cec squeezed his shoulder kindly, "even if we can't find the place she won't throw you out on the streets again. Finding the home and Welfare are just a formality, and she's not the formal type."

They pulled up at an austere building, grey and shabby looking. There was a high wall round it and heavy looking iron gates. Beyond the gates was a paved area, the slabs uneven and broken.

"I think this is it," Jem swallowed, "I remember these gates."

"You stay here, lad," Bert got out of the car and looked up at the dirty windows. He couldn't believe Welfare would allow such places to exist.

Jem and Cec watched him go up the path and pull the bell. They could hear it ring through the building. The heavy door was pulled open just enough to allow a grubby faced girl to peer out.

"Yes?" she muttered.

"Need to see the boss," Bert smiled kindly at her, she looked terrified.

She looked across to the car and squinted, "is that ... is that Jack?"

Bert was momentarily confused then he remembered that Jem had been known as 'Jack', he nodded.

"Coo," she murmured, "lucky boy."

"Yeah," Bert agreed, "now ... can I see who's in charge?"

"Er, yeah," she pulled the door open further, "wait here." She ran off to find someone leaving Bert to look around him. The hallway was dark and smelt of old cabbage and something he couldn't quite put his finger on ... despair?

"This is the place," a small voice behind him made him jump.

"Told you to stay in the car," he turned Jem around and pushing him, not unkindly, out of the door.

"I just wanted to be sure," Jem whispered.

"Yeah, well ..."

"Jack Holbourne!" a voice that made Jem's blood run cold cut through the air, he froze.

"Come here you little ..." a large, angry woman lunged at him and grabbed his coat, "thieving?"

Bert put his hand on her arm, "let him go," he scowled.

She glared down at him. She had dark eyes as hard as coal, her mouth was set in a thin line. Her face was angular, overly made up, her hair black as night and set in Marcel waves which didn't suit her. She raised a silver topped cane and shouted, "Samuel! Theodore!"

Jem squirmed in her grasp, which only became stronger, "Leggo!" he yelled, pulling harder until he heard the cloth rip at the shoulder seam, "Lemme go!"

Cec had seen everything and ran up the path. He put his hand over the one holding Jem and prized the fingers off, she managed to get a slap in.

"Get in the car, lad," he shoved him out of the door.

Two hulks appeared behind the woman as she brought the knob of the cane down on Bert's head. It cut his cheek before Cec grabbed it and snapped it over his knee.

There was a fight, the two hulks, presumably Samuel and Theodore, were no match for the more wiry Bert and agile Cec and when they finally lay on the floor groaning from thumps and kicks to particularly soft parts of their anatomy there was a large group of children whooping and cheering.

The woman glared and turned to shout at the children who made themselves scarce, knowing they would suffer later.

"Well, now," Bert rubbed his jaw, "all we wanted to know was do you have the admission paperwork for Jeremy Holbourne."

"Who wants to know," she folded her arms.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South police." Bert folded his arms and stared at her. She swallowed.

"See," Cec added, "if you'd bothered to ask my colleague why he was here, there would have been no need for this," he waved his hand at the still groaning hulks, "now, I expect the Inspector will be round. I suggest you find the information we want."

"That boy," she pointed a finger towards the car, "is a thief."

"That boy is to be adopted," Bert snarled, "and he's no thief."

"Those clothes ..."

"Were bought for him, we'll send the bill for the repair to that coat," he huffed, "The Honourable Miss Fisher ain't gonna be pleased."

"Honourable?" she gasped, and Cec swore that under the make-up she went pale, he nodded.

She went into a room to the side of the hallway and they heard her rifle through some papers.

"Here," she thrust a greasy and tea stained file at them, "now, get out."

"With pleasure," Cec politely tipped his cap and the two cabbies left.

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"Sorry," Jem pouted, "that was my fault."

"Y'know, son," Cec ruffled his curls, "I don't think it would have gone much better if you hadn't gone into see."

"Nah," Bert agreed, "the lass at the door recognised you so I reckon the dragon would have done too."

Jem giggled at 'the dragon', Miss Hurd as he knew her, was generally given an even less pleasant nickname.

"What'll happen now? Will Miss Phryne be cross about the coat?"

"Well, she won't be happy, but she won't blame you," Bert pulled up outside Wardlow, "let's go in through the back, Dottie'll mend the coat but I reckon Miss Fisher will make her pay for it."

Which was why Mr Butler was the first to see them, bruised and battered.

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"What happened to you three?" Phryne appeared at the door to the kitchen having heard the taxi draw up at the house. "Jem ..." she went over to the child, "are you alright? Boys?" She looked over at the red raggers.

"Seems the woman that runs that home is not the motherly type," Bert shrugged, "here's the file." He slid it across the table.

"What happened?" she sighed and sat down.

"Well, we found the place," Bert winced as Mr Butler cleaned the cut, "little lass let us in, like a rabbit in the headlights she was, recognised Jem, here ..."

"You didn't take him in!"

"No, he followed, though," Bert shook his head, "anyway this woman came down saw Jem, accused him of nickin' the coat ..."

"Sorry, Miss," Jem bit his lip, "it got torn."

"It'll mend, but she can buy you a new one," Phryne shrugged, it was nice to be able to afford to buy replacements for torn clothes but that didn't mean she was blasé about such things. "So ..."

"We told her it wasn't nicked," Bert continued, "Cec came up and pulled her hand of Jem but she still managed to slap him."

"She called two thugs to help, but they was too dumb to fight properly ..."

"Mr Bert and Mr Cec won," Jem's face was bright with pride, that these two had stepped in to help him.

"Yeah, well, as we said, if she'd asked who we were and what we wanted it needn't have happened," Cec carried on his tale, "we told her that the Honourable Miss Fisher wouldn't be pleased about the coat and could we have the file on Jeremy Holbourne. As I said, it would have all been perfectly pleasant if she had asked questions. We did say the Inspector may be round."

"And he won't be alone," she murmured between gritted teeth.

For a split second Jem pitied Miss Hurd, but only for a split second.

She opened the file and accepted a cup of tea from Mr Butler, the raggers joined her and Jem had a glass of milk.

"So ..." she hummed, "Jeremy Holbourne, born 12th January 1920; that makes you just ten, my boy; parents: Albert John Holbourne, born 14th May 1895; Mary Susan Holbourne neé Fisher ..." she raised an eyebrow, "born 7th September 1898 ..."

"Why is your name mentioned, Miss Phryne?" Jem asked.

"I expect there are quite a few with the same surname, Jem, it's not unusual," she wouldn't admit her curiosity was piqued; her father was a bit of a Lothario in his younger days and in fact still was as she had seen during the case at the Grand Hotel. Mrs Holbourne was born a year before her parents were married and just over two years before Phryne herself. She needed to do some digging, just to make sure there wasn't more to this, it was one heck of a coincidence.

"Anyway ..." she read on, "placed; that's you Jem we're talking about; at the orphanage at the age of four years and three months, mother deceased, father ... doesn't say. That's a job for Jack." She shut the file, not wanting to read on in front of Jem.

She took the file and went into the back parlour that was now a study for both her a Jack to peruse case files and work in. She had lied when she said it didn't say where Albert Holbourne was, it stated, quite plainly, that he was held on suspicion of murdering his wife, Jem didn't need to know that unless it became absolutely necessary.

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Jack had spent the day tracking down some of the employees at the business Jem's father used to work at. It was fairly easy, surprisingly. After getting the records for the business and why it went under, all the employees had lodged complaints against management for lack of wages, unacceptable goings on between female members of staff and senior management and all had left forwarding addresses for the courts to get in touch with them.

"Collins," he called through from his office, "we have a job to do, I want the best lads, two or three, plus you and me are going on a fact finding mission."

"We are, sir?" Hugh stood in the doorway.

"We are. Get ... er ... Meadows and Croft, they're used to taking statements."

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It was leg work, lots of it, but they found out quite a lot about the company, Mr Holbourne and other senior staff. Most said Holbourne was a fair man, praised good work and helped anyone who was struggling. Some of the female workers gossiped about certain other girls flirting with him, apparently he was a good looking man, but most left him alone.

"He had a lovely wife and his little boy, oh he was such a pet," one secretary remarked, "it was so sad. I often wonder what happened to the boy. I never believed he killed her, you know, he wasn't the type."

"I don't suppose you remember what the boy was called, do you?" Jack asked, just to be sure he had the right Holbourne.

"Er, Jeremy, I think, yes, Jeremy. His father said he was a little gem." She smiled. "Why do you ask?"

"We think we may have found Jeremy," he closed his notebook.

"Is he alright?" she seemed genuinely concerned.

"He will be," Jack smiled, "he will be."

"He won't remember me, too young, but tell him Miss Sturridge was asking after him, I used to give him sweets," she raised her eyebrows conspiratorially.

"I will, thank you, you have been very helpful."

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Back in his office the four men went over the information they had gleaned. Generally Holbourne was well thought of, but ... and it was a big but ... there were one or two stories about flirting that was more than flirting. At first it was looked on as gossip, Jem was a good looking boy and Holbourne had been described as good looking, even handsome in some cases, perhaps jealousy was the motive. Jack decided to focus on the women who were said to have flirted and the one who did the most finger-pointing, but that was for tomorrow, for now he would go and see what the red raggers had found out about the home Jem had been sent to.

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By the time Jack got home Jane and Jem were in bed. Jane had gone up to do her homework after she and the little boy she already looked on as a brother had had their dinner in the kitchen. Jem was exhausted from his busy day and the excitement so Dot had suggested he have a nice warm bath, put his pyjamas on and someone would come up and read to him. It was Phryne who chose this duty.

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She sat on the edge of the bed and opened up a copy of Treasure Island. She read two chapters and decided that was quite enough, it was too exciting and he'd never sleep.

"Miss Phryne?" he turned over and watched her put the book back on the shelf, "I won't have to go back, will I?"

"Oh Jem, sweet boy," she sat down again, "I won't let that happen, I promise. You're staying here, I want you to stay and be happy here, if you can be. I'm not what they call, motherly, but that doesn't mean I can't be a mother to you as I hope I am to Jane ..."

"... you are," Jane had passed on her way back from the bathroom, "she is, Jem," she sat next to Phryne, "I know you'll be happy here. You're clever and smart, you fit right in. We all want you to stay."

"Really?" he gulped suddenly wanting to cry and he didn't know why, they had said such nice things to him.

"Really," Phryne nodded, "now, sleep, another busy day tomorrow, you need some more clothes and we have to introduce you to Aunt Prudence, she doesn't even know I'm back yet ..." she rolled her eyes, "I'm going to be in trouble, again."

Jem found it odd that a grown woman should be in trouble with an aunt but he was rapidly finding out that Miss Phryne wasn't just any grown woman. Phryne leant forward and kissed his forehead.

"Goodnight, Jem, sweet dreams."

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She linked arms with Jane as they walked back to the younger girl's room.

"I'm not motherly, though, am I Jane?"

"No, but you're a great mother," Jane smiled and kissed her cheek, "g'night ... mum."

"Night, Jane," she touched her cheek and smiled. It was the first time Jane had called her 'mum' and it gave her a strange, but nice, warm feeling inside.

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She was musing on the conversations she had with Jane and Jem when her husband returned. He found her in the parlour dangling a glass in her hand and staring into space.

"Hey," he said softly, "anybody there?" He kissed her head.

"Hey, yourself," she smiled, "good day?"

"Interesting, you?"

"Busy, interesting, strange ..."

"Strange, how so?" he helped himself to a whisky and sat beside her.

"Oh, I don't know, the home Jem was in sounds more like a workhouse, Bert and Cec had a fight with some hired heavies there, Jane says I make a great mum, hey, imagine that, me, a mother," she gave a little laugh, "oh and Jem's mother was born a Fisher."

"Well, I agree with Jane, you are, and will be, a great mother, and I found out some interesting facts, too."

"You did?"

"I did" he passed her the new file on the death of Jem's mother and the subsequent hanging of his father. "We've taken a long look at this case, and I don't think it adds up. I think it was a quick fix."

Phryne was amazed at how much he had found out in such a short amount of time and when he praised the officers he had sent out to interview the witnesses in a 10 year old case she made a mental note to send at least a large hamper of goodies for them. She frowned, bit her lip and tutted as she read the statements, the stories and suppositions from those that knew the family best and the gossip that may lead somewhere.

"I agree with you, Albert didn't do it. It doesn't make sense, what does he have to gain? Unless he had someone else in mind who was happy to take on a four year old, then why do away with his wife. Everybody says they were happy, that Jem was a little sweetheart, and this Miss Sturridge, didn't have a bad word to say about anyone really apart from a little bit of gossip, but nothing that would indicate she was chasing Jem's father." She put the file down, "so what now?"

"I'm going to go back to the women indicated in the flirting and the biggest gossip, Elizabeth Roberts. I've given the autopsy report to Mac, there were pictures ..." he grimaced, the sight of Mary Holbourne's bashed in head was not something he was in a hurry to see again.

"I'm going to look into Jem's family tree," she sipped her drink.

"Really, because ...?"

"His mother was a Fisher before she married, I ... I ..." she bit her lip.

"When was she born?"

"Just over two years before me, 1898, September." She turned and looked at him, "look, Jack, father's always been a lady's man, we saw that at the Grand, he's a charmer, I wouldn't put it past him ... I certainly don't trust him in that regard, and I have a feeling ..."

"Jem's an awful lot like you, Phryne," Jack agreed, "smart, quick witted ... oh love," he sighed, "how will you tell him?"

"Let's cross that bridge if, and when, we come to it," she leant her head on his shoulder.

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Phryne had made a note of the address and pulled the Hispano Suiza up outside the house Jem and his family had lived in. It was boarded up, the 'for sale' sign knocked down and faded, the paintwork shabby through six years of neglect, windows broken, the plants in the garden dead - it was a sorry sight. Perhaps she should have brought Dot with her, or the raggers, but Dot had been sent out to see to buying clothes for Jem, to replace the torn coat and have it tailored to fit him properly.

"Anything you think he needs, Dot," Phryne passed her an envelope of cash, "and take him to have his hair cut, but ..."

"Leave some of the curls, Miss?" Dot had smiled.

"Yes, please."

So here she stood.

She walked up the path and round to the back of the small bungalow. If she was going to break in she didn't want to be seen. The back was much as the front was. She thought there were remnants of a vegetable garden, the canes for tomato plants and fruit bushes that had gone wild. Apples lay on the ground from the apple tree now fruiting again. She closed her eyes and saw a young woman tending the garden and scolding a little golden haired boy for picking up a windfall and trying it. This wouldn't do she had to get inside. First, could she pull off the boarding from the back door, or prize it off with the rusting spade that stood rammed into the soil? It took some doing and any moment she thought she would be caught, but it seemed that everyone was either at work or out for the morning.

The inside of the house was just as it must have been that fateful day, though time had taken its toll`. Petrified bread sat on the table under the dust, water in the sink had long ago dried up leaving the pots in a layer of very old grease and dust. The door that the little boy must have pulled at stood ajar now, his confinement ended. She pushed it with her finger, it scraped and dropped off its hinges sending up a cloud of dust that had her coughing and spluttering, covering her mouth with her handkerchief. This room, the parlour or living room must have been bright in its day. The curtains had fallen, rotted away but there were remnants of gay floral patterns. The couch and chairs had been nibbled, either by rats or mice - she shuddered, she didn't like them anymore than she liked spiders. There were faded photographs on the mantlepiece, pictures of a happy family, a young Jem and his parents, Jem sitting on a chair in his Sunday best in a studio, formal but sweet, a wedding photograph. She took them and wiped them with her gloved hand, Jem should have these, eventually. She stowed them in her bag.

Through in the hall the flowers in the vase had fallen to dust, a coat hung on the hall stand, frayed from wildlife, she supposed, and there, the spot where Mrs Mary Susan Holbourne had fallen. It yielded no further answers yet she saw that Jem would have been taught his manners, would have gone to school, perhaps a half decent one, grown to be a young man, been someone who was loved.

She passed into the bedrooms, again the furnishings had suffered, but the bed had been made, the nightwear folded. The bedroom that had belonged to a child was similarly neat, with a dilapidated old soft toy rabbit lying on the pillow. He had probably loved this toy, cuddled it in his sleep and it made her cry to think of everything he had lost. She picked it up and stowed it in the bag along with the photographs.

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Back outside in the car she wiped her face and took a drink from the flask Dot had provided her with. The lemonade was cool and refreshing and restored her ; now for the register of births, marriages and deaths.

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The registrar was more than willing to help, he was having a quiet day and something interesting was what he needed to keep him awake.

She gave him the dates and names she was looking into, told him it was a case the police were looking into.

"Could take a while, Miss," he smiled, "so I could call you or, if you want to wait, I was just about to make a cuppa."

"I'll wait, and yes, I'd love a cuppa," she smiled.

She watched him mutter and mumble as he pulled down ledgers and placed them on the desk, then open and close them until at last he seemed to have found the right ones.

They started with Jem, his parents, Albert and Mary, then the marriage register; married 21st March 1919; no parents listed, so they were either deceased or Albert and Mary had eloped.

They continued with the birth register as Phryne had Mary's birth date and maiden name.

"Ah ha," he pointed to a reference, "now, we have a Mary Fisher, and a Susan Fisher ... darn it, not the day you want, so ... aah, here we are, Mary Susan Fisher: mother Susan Stannard, father; Henry George Fisher."

"Can we find a marriage for them?" she tried not to get excited.

"What year?"

"Ah yes, well, sorry I don't know, but Mary Susan was born in 1898 so 1897, '96? The father, Henry, date of birth 1869, May 27th - maybe."

He looked at her, then decided against questioning her on the precise date, she obviously had her reasons.

It took a while, he brought out biscuits and more tea, rather enjoying himself, he'd never had a full family tree to investigate. It went like this:

Henry George Fisher married Susan Stannard on 6th June 1897; they had a daughter Mary Susan. Susan died two months later and Henry seemed to disappear. Mary Susan, they found out by looking into Welfare records, was sent to an orphanage until she was fourteen years of age.

Henry George Fisher then married Margaret Elizabeth Richards in 1898, December, they had two daughters, Phryne and Janey.

Mary Susan reappeared as a lady's maid, found love in Albert John Holbourne married him and gave birth to Jeremy John in 1920, she died of, apparently, natural causes.

Jem was Phryne's nephew, or half nephew - and she would have killed her father if he was in the same hemisphere. Not because he had sired another child, but because he had consigned a daughter to the state and he had never said anything about his first marriage. Looking back at the state she saw the little house in, she thought she might have liked her older sister.

She went home to prepare for tea with Aunt Prudence.

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Prudence Stanley was delighted her niece was back in Melbourne, but she had questions, lots of questions; not least was that it was reported that the Fisher-Robinsons had travelled across the Middle East in an old ambulance, rescued a young Arab girl, met the pope, solved the problem of the pseudo Italian Contessa ... it was all there in the newspapers.

"Aunt P!" Phryne smiled broadly, "it's so lovely to see you," she bent and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Phryne," Prudence couldn't help but smile, she had missed her and Margaret's letters hadn't told her much, except that she wholly approved of Inspector Robinson and hoped something more permanent would come of his relationship with her daughter.

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They sat in the parlour and Prudence took the time to observe her niece. Phryne had changed into a pale blue and white outfit, simple and elegant.

"So, my dear," she started, "you look well. When did you get back?"

"Oh, a couple of days ago," Phryne hummed absently, "so much to do to get settled back in - changes you know."

"Hm, I have read the papers, Phryne, what's this about Mr and Mrs Fisher Robinson ..."

"Ah, yes," her niece smiled, "well, it's mostly true. We weren't actually married - then - but we are now. People make assumptions, Aunt P," she shrugged, "but ... well it seemed the right thing to do."

"The right thing?"

"Yes, we did think of just saying we were married but that would be a lie and I wasn't going to lie about something like that. There is also Jack's reputation to think of, Aunt P, it wouldn't do for a Detective Inspector to be living in sin, now, would it?" She tipped her head innocently.

"Well," Prudence shuffled in her seat, "your mother did hope there might be something more permanent in your relationship ..."

"Oh she and Jack got on famously," Phryne laughed, "she even flirted with him."

"Oh really, at her age," Prudence huffed.

Phryne laughed and the conversation continued with Prudence asking if all she had read in the papers was true.

"On the whole, yes. We did get involved in a case in Palestine, we did meet the pope and solve a case, just a small one, in Rome and we did travel in an old ambulance."

Tea was served and Phryne thought it was now the time to bring up Jem, and her father's first wife. It was going to be sticky going.

"Aunt Prudence," she set her cup down, "did you know father was married before he married mother?"

"Goodness, where on earth did you get that idea from?" she was shocked, as well she might be.

"Well," and Phryne told her about trying to find Jem's family before she and Jack adopted him.

"So, you see, Jem is my half nephew and, I suppose heir to the baronetcy. Even if I were to produce a son he would take precedence."

Prudence had alternately opened and shut her mouth in horror at the deception, and at the fact that Henry hadn't brought Mary Susan into his new family. For a woman who had defied convention and raised her crippled son, Arthur, herself rather than consigning him to an institution, this was low.

"Does Jem know?" she asked.

"Not yet," Phryne admitted she wasn't sure how to tell him. "You must meet him, Aunt P," she stood up and went to the door.

"Jem!" she called, "Jem come and meet Aunt Prudence!"

"Comin', Miss Phryne!" his bright voice was heard from the kitchen. Phryne knew it was one of his favourite places to be, because Dot and Mr B let him try some of the dishes they prepared and after years of little or unappetising food, it was his current idea of heaven.

He arrived at the door and she put her arm round his shoulders. His hair had been tidied but the curls were still there. He wore his grey flannels, shirt and tie and a navy blue pullover. He had biscuit crumbs round his mouth.

"Biscuits again, young man?" she teased, wiping them off with her thumb, "you won't manage your dinner."

"That a challenge?" he grinned.

She shook her head and laughed, "now," she guided him into the parlour, "Jem I should like to introduce Mrs Stanley, known as Aunt Prudence. Aunt Prudence this is Jeremy, known as Jem, Holbourne."

Jem swallowed and at a gentle push from Phryne went over to her. He held out his hand to her...

Prudence saw a well dressed, good looking boy with, possibly, Phryne's eyes. That would be a Fisher characteristic, she thought, given what her niece had just told her. The cheeky comment in the doorway was typical Phryne but that could also be his upbringing. She had said he seemed to come from a decent family and must have been taught his manners at an early age, once learnt not forgotten. She took his small hand in hers and gave him a little smile.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," he said quietly.

"And I you, Jem," she nodded, "my niece tells me you are to become a member of the family."

"She has to talk to Welfare first," he sighed.

"There won't be any trouble there, Jem, I assure you," Prudence huffed.

"Really, that's what everybody says," he noted.

"Aunt Prudence knows people, Jem," Phryne put her hand on his shoulder, "and I have found out so much more about you and your family ..." she sighed, was this the right way to tell him he was already her family. She looked across at her aunt who gave a small nod. "Come and sit by me."

She needed to temper her anger at her father to get through this but Dot had cleaned the photographs and washed the toy rabbit gently and repaired and patched it, these things sat in a basket behind the chaise.

"I went to your old house today, while you were out with Dot, and I saw where you had lived with your parents."

"What's it like?"

"It's in need of work, but," she added hastily, "that's because no one has lived there since you left. I think it must have been a pretty house, and you had a garden and I think your mother grew vegetables and had an apple tree."

Jem tipped his head as she let him absorb this information. He had vague recollections, but they were clouded by six years in an orphanage and time on the streets, such things had become imaginings, stories in his head.

"I found these on the mantle piece," she reached for the basket, "I think these are your parents, and you, perhaps a birthday picture, a special one."

"What happened to them?" he ran his finger over the pictures trying to remember more than the ghosts they were.

"The Inspector is looking into that, and we will tell you, the truth, Jem, you deserve that." Phryne put her arm round him.

"What else did you find out?" he relaxed against her.

"I found out when your parents were born, who they were: Albert was your father, Albert John Holbourne, and Mary Susan was your mother. Now, you know she was Mary Susan Fisher, before she married your father and you asked me why she had the same name as I do. Well, and this was a shock to me, Jem, believe me; my father was married before he married my mother. His first wife died after Mary Susan was born and Mary went to an orphanage, I think it was a better one than yours, ..."

"Does that mean my mum was your sister?" he was catching on quickly, Phryne thought.

"Half sister, we have different mothers but the same father."

"Why didn't he get a nanny or someone to look after her?" Jem scowled, wasn't that what rich people did?

"My father wasn't rich then, Jem, he isn't particularly rich now, but he is better off. He lives in England, now, he's a baron ..."

"What's a baron?"

"I'll explain the English aristocracy later," she gave him a little squeeze, "anyhow, what this all means is that I am your aunt, or half aunt ..."

"So, they can't take me away?"

"No, sweetheart, you really are family."

He stared into space, the story whirring round in his head, he belonged to someone, at last, someone kind, who told the truth however hard it might be ...

He felt her move and reach into the basket again.

"When I was in your house, Jem, which _is_ your house by the way, I found this on what I think was your bed. Dot's given him a wash and a mend, but he's still a little delicate ..." she took out the little toy, "perhaps you'd like him in your room."

He took it and turned it over in his hands, stroked it with his fingers then he cuddled against Phryne. He couldn't say anything.

Prudence had watched the exchange and listened to the whole story; she wondered who would be the first to give Henry a piece of their mind, her or Phryne.

Phryne held him tight despite not being used to cuddling children and bit her lip against tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Perhaps you'd better write to your father, Phryne," Prudence murmured, "tell him he has a grandson."

"I think I'll tell him a lot more than that, Aunt P," she said through gritted teeth.

"Be careful, dear, your mother will have to know as well."

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"Phryne helped Jem set the photographs of his parents on the shelves in his room, and the little rabbit between them. He would be able to see them from his bed.

"Miss, I mean Aunt Phryne ... is that ok, that I call you 'aunt'?" he wondered if he had been a little forward.

"Absolutely," she ruffled his curls, "either is fine, even 'mum' ... if you want, but maybe that's not for now ... it's up to you."

He tipped his head and thought, "Aunt Phryne, I think," he nodded, "yes, Aunt Phryne - for now. Aunt Phryne," he started the question again, "do you think they loved me?"

"From what I hear, they loved you very much," she sat on the bed and pulled him next to her.

"What do you hear?"

"The Inspector should have much more news, on that," she smiled, "and we will tell you together."

"Will you tell me what happened to them, why I went to the orphanage?"

She knew this would be, perhaps, the hardest part of the story, but he had a right to know.

"When we have all the facts, yes. But you are only ten and I don't think it is going to be a nice story. Not all of it, anyway, these things seldom are, but, I want you to know they loved you, and we love you, all of us."

Jem thought he knew that, so many wonderful things had happened to him after he nicked the pie - there were good people in the world and these were the best.

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Jack was later than he planned to be but Mr Butler had held dinner back half an hour. Jack was also angry, very angry. He slammed the door which had everyone come running.

"Jack?" Phryne touched his shoulder gently as Mr B hung his coat and hat up, "what is it?"

"I've found out the truth, about what happened to Albert and Mary." He opened his brief case and pulled out the file, "a travesty, not justice at all."

Mr Butler poured him a whisky and presented it on a silver tray, he downed it in one.

"Tell me," she sat next to him.

"Where's Jem?"

"Here, guv," the boy appeared by his side.

"Right, well ..."

"S'ok, guv," Jem perched on the arm of the chair, "Aunt Phryne has told me it's not going to be a nice story."

"Aunt Phryne?"

"Later Jack," she smiled, that's the nice bit of the story, isn't it Jem?"

"Yep," he nodded emphatically.

"Well, Jack sighed and looked at Jem, "are you sure?"

"Go on Jack, please," Phryne perched on the other arm and put her arm round his shoulders, all the better to see the words he was reading.

"Your mother, Jem, Mary Susan was her name, well she died, she was killed by someone who wanted your father. This woman thought she was in love with your father and thought she could make him love her too; but he didn't he loved your mother. Anyway, one morning she told the office where they both worked that she was not well enough to go to work so she would be taking the day off. Your father went to work, as usual, and, as usual, told your mother he would be home for lunch. This woman waited, gave him enough time to get to the office and more then she went to the house and told your mother he had forgotten something and sent her to get it. When your mother turned round she hit her, hard, on the head," he paused and looked at Jem, was this too much detail?

"Go on, guv," he said in a small shaky voice. Phryne reached over and took his hand.

"Your father went home for lunch and found your mother on the floor and you locked in the kitchen, screaming and crying."

"Did they call the police?"

"Your father did, but ..." Jack took a deep breath, "they decided your father had killed her and took you away."

"But he didn't do it!" Jem shouted and stood up, his fists balled by his side.

"No, lad, he didn't," Jack stood up and went to him, "the person who did kill your mother will be dealt with, it won't bring them back, but I intend to track down the officer who dealt with the case and have him charged with perverting the course of justice. Jem," he knelt down in front of him, "there are some coppers who don't do their jobs properly but not in my station. Any constable found wanting is given one more chance and if they don't measure up they get kicked out of my team. You've met Senior Constable Collins, Hugh, well he's one of my best men, he has to be because I trust him to help me with the cases I deal with now. We're going to open up a 'cold case' team to check that all the cases, like yours, were dealt with properly, and if they weren't we will. I am sorry, Jem, truly. It makes me very angry that these things happen."

"T'weren't your fault, guv," Jem huffed, but he was hurt. "Where are mum and dad, I mean where are they buried?"

"I'm going to find out, and we'll give them a proper burial and I will get your father a pardon, a thing that says he was innocent."

"When you find the copper that got it wrong can I see him?"

"Why?"

"Cos I want to kick him," Jem growled, "can I do that?"

"Son, my eyes will be closed," Jack squeezed his shoulder, "now, what's this about Aunt Phryne?"

So Phryne and Jem sat him down with another whisky and told him how Phryne had found out about Henry's first marriage and that Mary Susan was Phryne's half sister and that made him her nephew, for real!

"Aunt Prudence says they can't take me away, she's got friends," Jem giggled.

"You are a blood relative, Jem, and we are your only family so Welfare will be hard pressed to take you, and with Mrs Stanley on our side, it's a dead cert."

Jem grinned.


	7. Chapter 7

Margaret was delighted to receive a long letter from her daughter. It explained more about why she and Jack had married and apologised for the stories in the paper.

"God knows, mother, you don't need that."

Margaret agreed, but at least she knew Phryne was safe during her trip back home, and though the stories may have been a little exaggerated they were interesting to read.

"However, mother, I have uncovered another story closer to home. In the course of returning from Sydney Jack and I came across a young lad, an orphan and entirely adorable. Of course we have had to investigate his past, who his family were and ..." there followed a copy of the family tree; Phryne thought this would be clearer than if she tried to write it down like a story, "... so you see, mother, Jem is my half nephew, your step grandson, but I don't know if father knows anything about how Mary Susan fared or his grandson. I'm sorry about this, I never expected this but I don't find it hard to believe. Aunt P is very cross that he abandoned his first daughter."

Phryne finished her letter with the little things that were happening, that Jem was settling in and they were waiting for a meeting with Welfare. Jane was doing well at school and growing into quite the young lady.

Margaret sat down and put her hand over her mouth. She had absolutely no idea about Henry's first wife or his daughter. True he had been older than some of her suitors, most of whom were in their mid twenties. She had been eighteen when she married, Henry thirty, but, at the time age didn't matter to her. It was as the girls were growing Henry went back to his philandering ways but she refused to go back to her parents, tail between her legs. She held her head up as high as she could and tried to turn a deaf ear to the gossip.

There was another, smaller, envelope in the letter that dropped onto the rug. She bent down and picked it up. On it Phryne had written, 'only if you want to', meaning she didn't have to look at the child if she didn't want to. But she felt she had to, she might meet him one day and wanted to see what he looked like as a child. Phryne had said he was adorable, not a word she used often and certainly not in relation to children. She pulled out the picture and a little note with it.

"By the time you see this, mother, Jem should be formally adopted as our son. We wondered if Jane would be jealous but as she says she still has a living mother and she feels secure as our ward. He is cheeky, Jack says far too much like me so he must be a Fisher. I wish I could be with you at this time, to talk to both of you. Love, Phryne, Jack, Jane and Jem."

She looked at the picture of the boy, trying to see Fisher characteristics in him. Perhaps his eyes ... he had light coloured curls, possible fair, like Janey's hair had been and there was a playful smile. It wasn't a formal portrait, she thought Phryne may have taken it herself, he was sitting in the parlour at Wardlow with a book on his lap.

The front door opened - and closed. She looked up to see Henry his usual genial self.

"Back from the club, Henry?" she stood up still holding the letter and photograph.

"Ah, er yes," he smiled, "post?" he raised his eyebrows and pointed at the letter.

"From Phryne," she nodded, "interesting news."

"What's she been up to now?" he entered the room fully.

"Investigating," she sat back down, "she and Jack are adopting a little boy."

"Well, she's hardly likely to have her own, is she?" he huffed.

"You never know with Phryne," she played with the papers in her hand.

"So, apart from adopting this boy, what does she have to say?"

"Oh, that she and Jack married quietly in Sydney, which is where they found this child, that the stories in the papers were mostly true, just a little embroidered, and the background to Jem."

"Jem?"

"The boy they are adopting."

"Oh, and ?"

She passed over the copy of the family tree and watched for his reaction. Initially she had wanted to scream at him for his deceit, tell him she would have happily taken Mary Susan in and treated her like her own.

As he read down the pages he paled, Margaret saw his hands start to shake.

"All in the past," he cleared his throat, "nothing to be done."

"Henry, she was your daughter," Margaret stood up, exasperated, "you didn't think I should know you had been married, that you already had a daughter ... what did you think I was going to do, throw you over?"

"I wanted to start a new life, with you, my dear," he reached for his hand, but she pushed both her hands into the pockets of her cardigan.

"So Mary Susan was consigned to history, left to grow up in an orphanage, forgotten about," she moved to stand by the fire place, "thrown out with the bath water."

"It wasn't like that, Margaret ..." he wheedled, which was when Margaret recognised the signs of him knowing he was in trouble.

"It was entirely like that," her voice betrayed her emotion, "Mary Susan was abandoned by her father. I should expect nothing more, I suppose, perhaps she was beaten less than Phryne, we can only hope that the orphanage was kind to her, though I doubt it."

"Phryne needed disciplining," he grunted.

"Not by being beaten and locked in a cupboard," she snapped, "you don't care about anyone else but yourself, Henry, you don't care who gets hurt when you go off on one of your wild schemes ..."

"Darling," he stood up and held out his arms, "you know I love you."

"You think you love me," she moved out of his reach, "but I don't think you know how to love; if you did you wouldn't have left Mary like that, you would have told me about her, about your first marriage ... I said in the letter I sent when you went off to Australia that I was going to initiate a formal separation ..."

"You wouldn't!" he was horrified.

"Maybe not a formal one, Henry, but I think I shall move into the spare suite, I think we need some space to think about our relationship and what it is based on."

"Based on?"

"Yes Henry, so far all I have had is lies and deceit ..."

"But we're good together," he implored.

"A marriage goes both ways, Henry, and you can't base a marriage on sex, either, if that's what you're thinking of, it should be based on mutual respect something you don't do, you don't respect me," she gathered up the letter and photograph. "By the way, do you want to see the picture, it's of your grandson, the heir to the barony?" She held it out to him and he couldn't but take it. He saw what she saw, a good looking boy reading a book, but he didn't see anything deeper, that the picture was taken by someone who loved him.

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Margaret moved her things herself, it gave her something to occupy her mind instead of wondering if she was doing the right thing. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask how many other children he had that she didn't know about, but perhaps she didn't want to know. Her marriage had started out happy, Henry had been an attentive if reckless husband and they were often left without enough money to feed the girls. She had started to wonder about his fidelity when the girls were growing up and he came home late, sometimes smelling of another woman's perfume, she couldn't afford such luxuries. Janey's death had caused a rift between them both blaming each other and poor Phryne was left out in the cold, believing for years it was all her fault. Inheriting the barony had given them a better life, Phryne the chance of a good education which she had made good use of, if not in the conventional way, and for a time life had been good. Then, when the war came she had busied herself opening up the house in Somerset to injured soldiers and doing what Henry termed, good works. Then Phryne had gone to France and she had her safety to worry about. Henry hadn't tried to comfort her, not the way she needed comfort. His idea was to take her to bed when he should have sat with her and listened to her. Phryne had come home, aged twenty five, broken through an abusive relationship and she had looked after her, encouraged her to go out and change her hairstyle, spend some of the money left to her by her grandmother. Maybe she had stifled her a little, but she didn't know what she had gone through; in the hospital or with that Frenchman. When Phryne began flirting and taking young men to bed her Margaret had hoped she would marry and settle down, but she eventually realised that Phryne had had love knocked out of her, by her father, by Rene so she would take her pleasure but not give her heart.

Jack was different, Prudence had said so and she had seen it over Christmas. He allowed Phryne to be herself, he talked to her, respected her brain as much as he worshipped her body, and he taught her to love and to accept that someone may truly love her, and allow him to do so. Now between them they had enough love to give some to a boy who turned out to be her half nephew and in spite of Henry's thoughts on Phryne and motherhood, it wouldn't surprise her if Phryne did give Jack his own child.

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Prudence had also written to Margaret and she wasn't particularly kind about Henry. She told her that what he had done was despicable and deceitful, but what did she expect? She said how sweet Jem was and that she was going to host a small family party to celebrate Jack and Phryne's marriage and their adoption of Jem.

"It's about time Henry understood the meaning of responsibility," she wrote, "though I expect it is too late for that. I know you would have taken Mary to your heart and though it may not have changed the outcome of her life at least she would have been loved and known her family."

Margaret didn't doubt she would have loved Mary, she wasn't sure about Henry, there were times he resented it if she found a few coppers to treat the girls she did have.

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The adoption had been easier than Phryne thought it would be, but, as Jack insisted, she was Jem's only living relative and they did have Mrs Stanley on their side.

"So," Jem mused, "that means ..."

"You're stuck with us," Phryne laughed, "and, remember what I told you about barons and earls and such?"

She had spent time explaining about the English aristocracy to him, in words he could understand and he now knew what his grandfather was and why some people referred to her as The Honourable Phryne Fisher.

"Yeah," he nodded, "about grandfather."

"Yes, well, that makes you The Honourable Jeremy John Holbourne Fisher Robinson, and you are heir to the barony."

Jem gulped, "that's a very long name," he whispered.

"Longer than you," Phryne laughed and gave him a little hug. "Basically, when your grandfather dies you will become The Baron of Richmond on Thames, it doesn't mean a lot; you can take your seat in the House of Lords and debate on laws and Acts of Parliament ..."

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Jack stopped her, seeing the little boy begin to look very confused and worried. If he remembered rightly Jem wanted to be a motorcycle courier.

"Quite," she agreed, "it's a long way down the road."

"Will I still be able to ride a motorcycle?"

"I see no reason why you can't arrive at the Houses of Lords on a motorcycle," Phryne grinned, "in fact it might make them sit up and take notice of the younger generation!"

Jack rolled his eyes and turned the conversation to the matter of Jem's education.

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Jem was going to take a lot of convincing that he should go to school so Phryne and Jack took their time finding the right one. Though he could read, and did - anything he could reasonably get his hands on - his writing and spelling left a lot to be desired. His mathematics was rudimentary but Mr Butler drilled him in his times tables while Dot taught him addition and subtraction by getting him to weigh out ingredients for baking and up and down scaling the recipes.

When they did find the right institution it wasn't one of the bigger schools with reputations to uphold it was a small progressive establishment purporting to provide a more practical education for boys. They did all the usual academic subjects but they also included practical sciences and mechanics.

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Jack and Hugh, meanwhile, had been asked to look into the team that had investigated Jem's mother's murder. A lot of the officers from City South at the time had either left, died or gone onto higher things, so tracking down those directly involved wasn't easy. The team leader had been answerable to George Sanderson, a fact that didn't surprise Jack. After Jack had been asked to overlook certain bits of evidence in cases he had handled with Phryne, he had been left wondering how many others had been glossed over in an effort to curry favour.

The woman who had actually committed the murder did not seem to be particularly well connected by name or association so they dug into her background - looking for a hold she may have over someone.

"That's a job for me," Phryne held out her hand for the information they had so far.

"Paperwork has never been your strong point, Phryne," Jack teased, "there's not much here."

"Nevertheless, maybe I can put two and two together ..."

"Alright, just don't make five," he warned.

"I won't, that was the problem in the first place."

"That and lazy policing." He shrugged and turned back to a current case of attempted murder.

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Phryne visited the murderess in prison. Start at the top, she had said, before the hangman's noose did it's work. The woman was nothing special to look at: blond hair, blue eyes, a pleasant face was all she could say to describe her, she wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Mary Susan, from her wedding photograph, had been pretty, slight of figure, and had the apparently fair curls that Jem had inherited.

Elizabeth Roberts had tried to direct Jack to the other women she gossiped about when he initially interviewed her, including Miss Sturridge, a misdirection as it happened. She had been the one to hatch the plan to get rid of Mary and set her cap at Albert, never thinking he would get the blame. She hadn't allowed for the lazy and corrupt policing, the overstretched force during the time of the Police Strike. She had little more to add when Phryne spoke to her, six years of regret had dulled her and she didn't remember the officers who had interviewed her.

The statements that were taken at the time were gossip, finger-pointing and always led back to Albert. Phryne couldn't understand this; Jack and Hugh's new statements only suggested that it could have been one of the women supposedly flirting with him.

"Did you refer to the original statements when you re-interviewed the ladies?" she asked over a post dinner game of draughts one evening.

"Ah ha," he nodded and took two of her pieces. "Mostly they didn't remember that was what they said, just where they were at the time of the murder and who was their alibi. The only one who didn't have an alibi was Elizabeth Roberts and we know why - now."

"And no one else was interviewed - from the company, someone who may have been overlooked in favour of Albert?" she repaid the compliment on the game board.

"Nope," he frowned.

"Sloppy."

"Quite."

"Have you spoken to George?"

"Claims he doesn't remember a thing, too many cases ..."

"Right," even she had to admit that was feasible, "however he did sign the case off so, ultimately it was his responsibility." What Phryne couldn't understand was why Sanderson continued to mentor such an honest copper as Jack, when he was precisely the opposite.

"He was, just as I am for all the cases I sign off."

"So, as he is in prison, what do we do about Jem's desire to kick him?" she mused, "I am not taking him into such a place."

"No you are not," he huffed, "but it has added time to his sentence, not much as the case was some time ago. Still, I can't see him getting out alive, not as his age."

"I suppose not."

"Why don't you get Jem to write to him?" he sat back having cleared the board, "I mean, tell him what the result of his actions were. You could back it up, tell him he deprived you of a sister."

"I've been wondering if we would have met, ever, if things had gone differently for her," she hummed, more to herself than him.

"I wouldn't have been surprised if you did, and conversely if you didn't. And if you did, would you have found out she was your sister ... sadly it's in the past, love," he took her hand and squeezed it, "but one thing I am absolutely sure of, that you would have taken her to your heart."

"Thanks, Jack, for having such faith in me."

"Fancy an early night?" he smiled.

"You know, I think I do," she let him lead her upstairs ...

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Jem listened while Phryne told him who was responsible for taking his father away and that he was in prison.

"I don't really want to take you there, dear," she sighed, "but you could write to him and tell him what he did. I might write and tell him Mary Susan was my sister ..."

"Why is he in prison? If he was a copper ..."

"He did something awful, Jem." She didn't know if he would understand the crime.

"Go on, Aunt Phryne," he sat next to her on the chaise, "what was it? Please."

So she told him, in simple terms, that George Sanderson had been involved in selling young girls to strangers as slaves.

"Selling them?" he scowled, "y'mean like the baker sells bread?"

"Pretty much," Phryne agreed.

"That doesn't sound right, you didn't buy me," he pouted.

"No, Jem, people aren't for sale; the things they do are, like baking bread, or growing fruit and vegetables, but actual people aren't for sale." She thought he was wise beyond his years, two years on the streets will do that for a child.

Jem sat and thought for a while and decided he wouldn't bother writing, he had better things to do with his free time.

"As you wish," she ruffled his curls.

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The household now knew that Phryne was pregnant. She'd have kept it quiet for longer if her ever observant companion hadn't noticed she wore more dresses and fewer pairs of trousers, and she had found her vomiting into the toilet one morning. Dot had put two and two together and got the right answer. She took her tea and ginger biscuits and they sat down for a long talk.

"Well, Miss," Dot sighed, "perhaps Madame Fleuri can do something about your trousers, and I can let out some of your skirts a little."

"Thank you, Dot," Phryne lay back on the pillows, "I think I'll have an easy day today and perhaps you could give Mac a call. She said I should have regular appointments and I haven't seen her since she came to examine Jem."

"Perhaps you should return her calls," Dot hummed, "I thought you'd been avoiding her, lately."

"Damn, you noticed," her mistress huffed, "it's just if I ignore it for a little while longer ..."

Dot rolled her eyes.

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"Morning sickness isn't unusual, Phryne," she hummed as she took her blood pressure, "that's fine."

"I know, it's just that it hasn't been that bad up to now, just a little nausea," Phryne took a sip of water.

"Yes, well you've done a lot since you got back, adopting Jem, digging into his past, that turns out to be your father's as well," Mac sat on the edge of the bed. "You need to take care of yourself, Phryne. I wouldn't advise you running around the docks chasing wharfies, or disarming thugs. Stick to the intellectual side of the cases, if you must interfere."

"S'ppose you're right," she pouted.

"I am," Mac patted her arm, "you'll be fine. I take it you've had no further spotting?"

"None," Phryne shook her head.

"Good, well, I want to see you every month, for now, then more frequently nearer the time," Mac closed her bag and stood up, "come on, Mrs Robinson, up you get, lunch will do you good and a walk in the fresh air."

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She was nearly eight months into the pregnancy, the nursery had been furnished, a nanny had been hired and she had resigned herself to not climbing walls in the dead of night or running round the docks waving her little gold pistol when there was a knock on the door.

She pushed herself up off the chaise and smoothed down her new favourite dark green dress. Mr Butler had gone out to take a lunch basket to Jack at the station and Dot was shopping for some peaches that Phryne had a yen for so she was alone and taking the chance to relax with a book.

She wasn't expecting visitors, Aunt Prudence had arrived to take tea two days earlier and had said she would see her again soon, so who could be calling on her.

"Mother!" her eyebrows hit her hairline and the hitch in her voice had the unborn child kick her ribs. She patted her bump, "this is a surprise."

It was more of a surprise to Margaret to see her daughter in such a condition, she nearly dropped her suitcase - the trunk was to follow.

"I wrote," she finally gasped, "but it would appear you have been a little neglectful with your news."

"Was I?" Phryne tried her innocent look, "well, sorry. Come in; is father with you?"

"Absolutely not!"

Phryne's heart sank, surely she hadn't carried out her threat and left the old soak?

"Come through to the kitchen, I'll make some tea," Phryne closed the door and sighed heavily. Mac had told her her blood pressure was a little high and she was not to get too excited. This was precisely not the kind of thing she needed.

"No staff, Phryne, I thought you had a cook/butler," Margaret looked round the hallway.

"I do, but they're out," she swivelled on her heel and strode through into the kitchen.

Her mother followed her, pausing to admire the dining room. In the kitchen Phryne set to boiling the kettle and setting out cups and saucers and checking the biscuit tin which, thankfully Mr Butler and Dot kept well stocked. She put out a selection of shortbreads and set the plate with the rest of the things on a tray. Margaret watched her warm the pot, measure out the tea and set it down on the tray.

"I thought you'd forgotten how to do these things," she smiled softly.

"I don't think you can forget how to make a cuppa, mother; now let's go into the parlour."

"I'll carry it," Margaret reached over.

"You are my guest," Phryne reached for the other side.

"I'm your mother," she replied, "and you shouldn't be carrying heavy things."

"It's not that heavy, but go ahead, this way." Phryne preceded her mother out of the kitchen and led her into the parlour.

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"What a lovely room," Margaret set the tray down on the table Phryne indicated, "your father was less than forthcoming about the house."

"Considering he took advantage of my staff and the facilities that's a cheek," Phryne huffed.

"Him all over," Margaret sipped the tea and gave a little shrug. "When is the baby due?"

"Soon," Phryne stroked her bump, "Mac doesn't think I'll go to term, I had some spotting early on and have been having practice contractions, but the conception date's a little flexible."

"Elizabeth? She's still your doctor?"

"Yes, she's been wonderful, if slightly bemused, but she is strong enough and knows me well enough to keep me in line," her daughter nodded.

"And she will attend you, in hospital?"

"I hope so, though I don't like the idea that Jack will be kept away from me."

"Darling, you don't want your husband to see you like that, things like that are not for men to see," Margaret pursed her lips.

"He knows me inside and out, mother," this was Phryne's bête noir, the only time she was willing to admit that she needed Jack, "and he says if he could be there he would be." This was another argument she didn't want to get into, she was supposed to be resting, and they were skirting round why her mother had arrived unannounced on her doorstep. A silence fell.

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Mr Butler noted the tea caddy and biscuit tin were on the kitchen table and the kettle had been recently boiled. Miss Fisher must have made herself a drink and had biscuits. A light lunch therefore, would be required. He took off his bowler hat and coat, hung them in the cupboard and went to the parlour to see how she was. Phryne had joked, privately to Jack, that it was like having a proper father around. Jack had not passed the comment in his head, that Mr B would probably have made a better job of that role than Henry, but they both knew it was so.

He knocked on the door and pushed it open, expecting to see his mistress relaxing with a book as she had said she would. He first saw the Baroness and raised an eyebrow.

"Come in, Mr Butler," Phryne called from her seat, "let me introduce my mother, Baroness Fisher; mother, this is Mr Butler."

"A pleasure, my lady," Mr Butler bowed his head.

"Mr Butler, could you contact the Windsor and book mother into a small suite, please," she turned to her mother, "I'm sorry I can't accommodate you here, mother, but there are no spare rooms left."

"Hm," Margaret scowled.

"Seriously, mother," Phryne insisted, "Jack and me, Jane, Jem, the nursery and nanny's room - there's a spare maid's room at the top of the house, but that's only because Dot and Hugh have just moved out. You are welcome to dine with us as often as you would like to, but I'm sure you will be very comfortable at the Windsor."

"I suppose so," Margaret sighed.

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They had a light luncheon together before Phryne called the red raggers to take her mother and her luggage to the Windsor.

"They will pick you up later, mother," she smiled, "for dinner." She still hadn't got out of her the reason for her sudden visit but she was sure it was something to do with her father and now she was feeling rather tense.

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Dot noticed she was unsettled and suggested she have a soothing bath.

"You know it relaxes you, Miss," she folded a blanket and draped it over the chaise longue, "and perhaps I should call Dr Macmillan?"

Phryne rubbed her temples and sighed. "Thank you, Dot, you know me better than I do. Yes, call Mac, tell her she can stay for dinner, it might keep mother from bothering me about the baby."

When Phryne returned to the parlour, more relaxed having given herself a good talking to and dressed in a loose blue dress, Dot had set a sliced peach in a bowl of ice and a pitcher of lemon squash out for her. It was refreshing and did more to cheer her up as they sat and chatted about this and that, the things Dot was doing in their new house; which was the Inspector's old house; and that now they were settled they were thinking about having a child of their own.

"This is your house," Dot smiled when Phryne admitted she was surprised they hadn't already gone down that route, "and knowing you weren't keen on babies ..."

"Who says I'm keen on them now?" Phryne interrupted, Dot decided against commenting on the fact she was pregnant so perhaps she had changed her mind.

"... we decided to wait until we had a place of our own."

"And what does your priest think of the lack of Collins offspring?" Phryne knew that Father Grogan was a died in the wool Catholic and had even asked Dot to stop seeing Hugh as he was a protestant.

"I told him all things come to those who wait." Dot nodded defiantly, "he doesn't need to know why we haven't added to his flock yet."

"Quite right," Phryne laughed, she was proud of the strong woman Dot had become.

"And, anyway, it doesn't always happen," Dot added, thinking of Jack and Rosie.

"True."

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The next few days were spent getting the truth out of the Baroness, the reason why she had returned to her homeland. Mac attended at the same time, in the hope she could keep Phryne calm as her blood pressure was given to rising after a conversation with her mother.

"Look Phryne," she folded her stethoscope up and sat on the bed after a particularly tense meeting. "This has to stop, or I will have to take you into hospital until the birth. This is not doing you any good at all. Your mother has left your father, you have found her accommodation and she is going to have to live at the Windsor. Job done. She will be fine."

"I can't ban her from the house," Phryne sighed.

"Why not, you did it for your father," Mac threw her hands up in despair. "Your choice, Mrs Fisher Robinson."

"Fine, I'll tell her not to come - after tonight."

"Just until the baby is born," Mac huffed, "then she can come and be the doting grandmother."

"At least she will be that, she's quite good with Jem."

It was true, Margaret did spend time with her step-grandson. She explained how the British aristocratic system worked and told him the history of the Fisher family. Jem was his usual cheeky self with her, and quickly learned how to beat her at draughts. In her childhood Margaret had learned to play the piano and she taught him to play his scales and played familiar classical melodies for him, while Jack would play more modern songs, jazz music that Phryne liked.

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Margaret had been hurt that her daughter had asked her not to call for a while, even if Mac had explained that Phryne was in need of complete rest if she was to get through the rest of the pregnancy without complications.

Phryne had never been one for 'resting' but as she was unable to get a proper night's sleep she had less energy than usual. She would doze on the chaise, get up and check the nursery, move a few things round, then the next time move them back again. Frome what Dot remembered of her mother at this time she was 'nesting', close to giving birth. Jack tried to reduce his hours at the station, worried about her. He tried not to suffocate her instead he would suggest a short stroll perhaps, or tea in the garden where they would discuss possible names for the child. Phryne only chose boy's names she insisted he had to have a son, but he said he didn't care what sex it was, as long as the both of them were alright, that was all that mattered, so he would throw in a couple of girl's names.

"Catherine."

"Charles."

"Richard."

"Edward."

"Grace."

"David."

"Henry ... etta, Henrietta."

She glared at him, he shrugged and grinned.

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"Shall I call Mac?" he was concerned, she had had the most uncomfortable night, been up several times to visit the bathroom, dozed then woken again.

She shook her head unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears she was so tired.

"Right, well, I'd rather she came, but if you don't want her to, I'm going to take the day," he bent down and kissed her softly at the corner of her eye.

She knew he was doing his best and much as she wanted to push him away she didn't. She took his hand and kissed it.

He left her settled for the moment and went to get some tea, at least try to encourage her to drink something.

While he was in the kitchen waiting for the tea to be made Phryne woke again and groaned at the tightening over her belly. She surmised this was proper labour, the pain was stronger than those she had experienced in recent weeks. She pushed herself upright and wondered if the force of gravity would move things along. She went to the bathroom - again - and pulled her robe around her. As another pain gripped her she held on to the door jamb and sucked in a breath.

Jack nearly dropped the tray at the sight of her standing there, framed in the doorway and gasping.

"Phryne," he put the tray down, quickly, not caring if he spilt the drinks and hurried over to her, "Mac will have to be called, love," he helped her over to the bed.

She nodded but refused to lie down, she just sat on the edge leaning her head into his stomach.

"Sweetheart," he whispered and squatted down in front of her, holding her shoulders and looking into her tired eyes, "I won't be a moment, I'll just call Mr Butler to make the phone call."

Giving a backwards glance as he stood at the doorway, Jack shouted for Mr Butler.

"Call Dr Macmillan!"

Mr Butler put down the spoon he was drying and ran to the hall. He didn't need to know why he had to make the call, Mrs Fisher Robinson had not been well for some days all he had been doing was waiting for the time he would have to ring up the doctor.

For Phryne things seemed to be happening quickly, but to another person. Mac arrived and quickly examined her and stated quite simply and firmly that she was to be taken to the hospital immediately.

"It's a big baby, if her size is anything to go by," she huffed, "and she may have trouble delivering naturally. I need to be in a position where I can intervene surgically if necessary."

"No you won't," Phryne lifted her head, "I will do this myself, Mac," she pushed herself upright, determination fuelling her.

"Phryne ..."

"Hospital, alright, but no surgery," she insisted, "best bring the car round, Jack."

"Can you manage the stairs?" he draped a blanket over her and pushed her slippers to her feet. She glared at him. It gave him hope that she would be alright, she hadn't glared at him in days.

Truth was she felt slightly more comfortable standing, though the pressure, the heavy feeling of something trying to get through too small a hole was disconcerting, but the pain in her back was lessened.

The drive to the hospital in Phryne's car with Mac following was quicker than she expected. Jack drove faster than he would usually glancing quickly at his wife every time she let out a groan.

She refused a wheelchair, stuck her chin out defiantly and tried to march to the maternity suite set aside for her. 'Suite' was a grandiose name for a private room with adjoining bathroom and a more comfortable chair for the father to be to sit in outside the room. This would be where Jack would have to stay while she gave birth.

Phryne surveyed the room: white everywhere, sterile and cold. The bed had a curious contraption at the end of it which Mac informed her were stirrups.

"I'm here to have a baby, Mac, not ride a horse," she huffed.

"You will lie on the bed and, once you are prepped your legs will be raised into the stirrups which will give us a better view of what is going on."

"And what does 'being prepped' involved?"

"You will be shaved and washed thoroughly ..."

"Are you saying I'm dirty?" Phryne stepped away from the bed and her friend.

"Of course not, it's to protect the baby from infection."

Phryne thought back to all she had seen on her travels through the Middle East, that she had seen one woman squat and give birth, quite by accident, but she had been there and neither mother nor child had seemed to come to any harm.

"No thanks, I'll wash myself, in fact as there is a bathroom I shall have a bath ..."

"Phryne ..."

"Look, Mac, the last few weeks have been hell. Women have been giving birth for millennia, and without stirrups or being shaved. They still just drop 'em in other countries ..."

"Yeah, and die in the process ..."

Phryne pouted, "Still, I shall have a bath," she gasped as another pain hit her, "and then you can examine me. After that ... we shall see."

Mac considered her stubborn friend and decided that a bath probably wouldn't hurt, as long as it wasn't too hot or perfumed. She relented and after seeing her safely in the tub went to collect the team who were to attend her. As she passed Jack she stopped to let him know his wife was being difficult.

"Good," he grunted, "sounds like she's back to her old self."

"Jack," Mac took his arm and stared at him, "she will put both her life and that of the baby's in danger."

"Unlikely," he shook his head, "Phryne is stronger than she appears and in this, while she has no knowledge of giving birth, she knows her own body. If she gets into trouble she'll let you know and she'll let you intervene."

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In the bath Phryne decided her child should have a talking to. She told him, for it was to be a boy after all, that he was to make haste into this world before Auntie Mac did unseemly things to his mother.

"Listen ... Thomas - yes you shall be Thomas; I don't intend giving you a sibling, sorry an' all that, but there is Jem and Jane who will be just as good, if not better, than a troublesome little brother or sister. So go easy on your poor ol' mumma and ... ooh, Tommy!" she looked down into the bath water and it became evident that her waters must have broken from the change, "Ok," she tipped her head, "well you have been swimming about for the last nine or so months, sliding out into the bath can't hurt, can it?" A very strong contraction gripped her and she realised that she was alone. She couldn't hear anything from the bedroom and Jack was outside, things were happening very quickly round her nether regions - she shouted!

"Mac! Jack! Anybody!"

She waited, maybe seconds - nothing.

"JACK!"

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Outside, in the corridor, where he was supposed to be waiting patiently, Jack thought he heard her call, but, surely not? He waited, then he was sure as she called his name - no screamed it. He burst through the door and looked around. No Phryne, but the door to the bathroom was ajar.

"Phryne!"

"In here!"

"What?!" he gasped, "Phryne!" He knelt at the side of the tub.

"He's almost here," she gasped, pushing as her body asked her to, "god, Jack ... where's Mac?"

"Gone to get the team," he pushed her legs apart, the baby would need room to get through, "shit! I can see him."

He pushed his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves as fast as humanly possible before reaching into the bath and catching the tiny baby sliding effortlessly out of his wife. He lifted his son out and held him at arm's length then passed him to Phryne who lay him on her breast.

"Sorry," she gulped, "I told him to make haste, seems he heard me - urgh!" she felt the urge to push again. He was still attached to her so what was happening? Where the hell was Mac?

"Mac said the baby was big, but ..." Jack looked at the tiny form lying on her front, "he's tiny." Thomas mewled and Phryne stroked his back.

"Shh, little man," she soothed, "Auntie Mac'll be here soon," she agreed with Jack he couldn't have taken all that much room, even with the waters.

"Will you be alright?" he stood up, "I'll go and see ..."

"Go," she gasped as another contraction took hold.

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He stood in the corridor, looking up and down - "Nurse!" he spotted a uniformed figure.

"Sir?" she smiled, "can I help you?"

"Dr Macmillan, get her, quickly, my wife has just given birth - in the bath!" He turned and shot back into the suite to do whatever he could to help Phryne. The nurse ran off down the corridor calling for Mac as she went.

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In the bath Phryne was employing a technique she used when her periods were painful, she massaged her lower abdomen; it helped but the contractions still came.

"Jack," she snatched a breath, "it feels as if there is more coming, Mac didn't say I was expecting twins."

"It's your afterbirth," Mac appeared at the doorway, a nurse behind her tying the gown around her. "Only you, Phryne, could give birth in the bath; out of my way, Jack."

Jack moved round to the other side of the bath and watched as Mac placed a towel over the baby and cut and tied the cord. She wrapped Thomas up and handed him to Jack telling him he might as well make himself useful.

"Smaller than I expected," she hummed, "but ok, now ..." she helped Phryne deliver the placenta and pronounced her done.

"No," Phryne grunted, "I'm not, there's more, I know it." She shifted and let the next contraction take hold. Now she knew what was happening and she was still in the bath she had the confidence to continue with whatever her body had in store for her.

Jack added a little more warm water when she complained it was going cold, holding the now dozing Thomas in his arms.

"He's called Thomas, Jack," she gritted her teeth, "it just came to me, as he was about to be born. We can call him Tommy - aargh!"

"It's perfect," he smiled, "Thomas?"

"Hm," she winced, "Thomas, Thomas ... Edward John; Edward - urgh - after Uncle Edward and John after you, of course."

"Phryne!" Mac reached in to the bath between her legs, "oh, bloody hell, another one, I didn't hear a second heartbeat ..." she teased out the tiniest baby she had ever delivered alive, shock all over her face - and worry. This one was too small, starved perhaps, it was unlikely to survive. She bit her lip, she hated these times, delivering this kind of news.

But Phryne's daughter was a fighter. At just three pounds she was like a doll - but - she was breathing.

"She'll need an incubator," Mac placed her on Phryne's chest, and continued to massage Phryne's lower abdomen to deliver the final placenta and prepare to help the new mother out of the bath.

"Mac," Phryne breathed, now realising how exhausted she was, "oh god, she's minute."

"Phryne, she's too small, you have to understand ..."

"Hope," Jack whispered, stroking the tiny head, "that's what she's called, Hope Elizabeth Phryne ..."

"Bloody hell Jack," Mac swallowed, "you do put a lot on me."

"Got to give you some credit," Jack smiled, "but let's get Phryne out of here and settled, she's tired."

'Tired' didn't quite describe how Phryne felt, but she also felt exhilarated, she had achieved something she had never in her wildest dreams envisioned, she was a mother - to twins.

They got Phryne into the bed and Mac called for nurses to make her comfortable. The babies were dressed in gowns and nappies, though Hope was practically smothered in hers, and the nurses prepared to take them to the nursery.

"I want them here," Phryne shifted in the bed, "I want the incubator next to my bed and Thomas' crib the other side."

"Phryne ..." Mac leant on the bed.

"If, as you say, I have limited time with my daughter then I want to spend as much as possible with her, so ..."

"But ..."

"Do we have the required power for an incubator in here?"

"Yes, of course, but ..."

"No buts, Mac," Phryne grumbled, "now, I'm tired, but I'm sure Thomas will need me fairly soon, so ..."

Jack steered the doctor out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"Can it be done?" he asked, "I know a nurse will have to be paid for, but that isn't an issue, can it be done?"

"Jack ..." she didn't want her to see her daughter die, but if they did this it was a strong possibility.

"Do it, Mac, please," he sighed, "I can't pretend to know what is going through her mind but she is very protective as you well know and if Hope doesn't make it then she needs to be there. She wasn't for Janey and it still haunts her."


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you for all the lovely reviews as I go through the lives of the Fishers and Robinsons. Here is another chapter which I hope you will enjoy._

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With Phryne settled and the babies where she wanted them Jack felt he should take a few minutes to inform the family. He had enough details, names and weights; Thomas five pounds, four ounces and Hope, tiny, fragile Hope just three pounds and half an ounce. Mac was kicking herself for not hearing the second heartbeat or feeling a second child but of late Phryne hadn't wanted to be touched and keeping her calm had been the priority.

"Can she have visitors?" Dot asked immediately, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

"Um, I think she would like that, Dorothy," he mumbled, "just you, perhaps, at first. She's shattered, and with Hope being so tiny ..."

"She's Miss Phryne's daughter, sir," Dot stated matter of factly.

"Not even Phryne can work miracles."

Dot put the phone down and thought. A luncheon hamper for the both of them, clean night clothes for Mrs Fisher Robinson, something to make Miss Hope more comfortable. The Inspector had said she was swamped by the nappy and she had to be kept warm.

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Mr Butler waited in the car while she headed into the church. She was going to light a candle for each of them, for Miss Phryne's recovery, Master Thomas and Miss Hope. She said an extra prayer for Miss Hope.

Mr Butler stood outside the room with the Inspector, offering his congratulations while Dot took in all she had gathered.

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"Dot!" Phryne smiled, "oh how lovely of you to visit."

"Congratulations, Miss," Dot advanced to the bed, "I brought some clean nightgowns for you, your robe and ..." she pulled a soft cotton blanket out of the basket, "... for Miss Hope. I have cut down some nappies for her too."

"Oh Dot," Phryne sniffed, "that is so kind of you. She's so tiny."

"Goodness, Miss," Dot raised her eyebrows as she peered into the incubator, "she is. How are you feeding her?"

"She's too tiny for me to feed her myself, and ... and ... well Mac doesn't think she'll ... we've tried a spoon but ..." Phryne bit her lip.

"Now, Miss," Dot turned and scowled, "we'll have none of that thinking. Are you feeding Master Thomas yourself?"

Phryne nodded.

"Right," Dot took off her coat and sat on the edge of the bed. This was something she had experience of. "Do you leak from the other side?"

Again her mistress nodded.

"It happened to a neighbour of my mother's. They caught the dribbles in a cup and used a dropper to feed the babe." Dot thought for a moment, "she'll be ten now, and running around fine."

"Really?" Phryne pushed herself up, "it's not much though, is it?"

"You can encourage a bit more to come out," Dot continued and reached into the basket. "Now, I've boiled this so it's extra clean," she held up a dropper, "and I bet she's ready for something to eat."

"We need a clean cup," Phryne was becoming more animated and less sad as the conversation progressed.

Dot stood up and went to the door. "Inspector, Mr Butler, could you find a nurse and ask them to bring a clean cup to Mrs Fisher Robinson, it needs to have been boiled."

Both men looked at her but she had gone back into the room before they could question her. Jack scratched his head and poked his nose into the room.

"Phryne?"

"Dot has an idea, but can you wait, please?"

"Er, yes of course," he stepped back into the corridor thinking it was probably a female thing that she didn't want him to know about - just yet.

Mr Butler headed up the corridor with no idea why Dorothy should want a boiled cup but she had her reasons. He passed a tea trolley but there was no hot water urn to dip a cup into, and the nurse manning it was in with a patient. He waited for her to come out of the room and when he asked for the cup she pointed him in the direction of the small kitchen they used.

The nurse continued on, thinking some of the patients were incredibly fussy.

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He knocked on the door and passed the cup to Dot.

Phryne managed to express enough to fill the dropper three times. Not much, but a start. If it worked they could talk to Dr Macmillan about a more efficient way of collecting the milk.

Dot opened the incubator and stroked Hope's tiny head, her little hands, that were about as big as Dot's finger tips, clenched into the tiniest fists.

"Come on little one," Dot soothed, "try this." She gently touched the minute mouth with the tip of the dropper, "clever girl, you know what to do, don't you."

Phryne watched in awe as the little mouth opened and a drop of milk landed on her tongue. She could have sworn Hope smacked her lips. It took time, Dot was careful to see that the baby didn't take too much at a time and choke, but Hope took all of the milk. Dot rolled her gently onto her side and rubbed her back softly before changing her into a more suitably sized nappy and wrapping her in the soft cotton blanket she had brought with her.

"Jack!" Phryne called through, "Jack come here, please!"

Her voice sounded light, almost excited, not frightened or saddened so he didn't hesitate to go in and see what was happening. Perhaps he would find out why Dot needed the boiled cup.

"What? Phryne what happened?" he took her hand.

"Hope's just had her first meal," her eyes shone with happiness, "Dot did it, she knew how ..."

"I just did what my neighbour did with her little girl," Dot shrugged and showed the dropper.

"She took three, oh Jack," Phryne smiled, "there is a chance."

"How, she can't suckle?"

"We milked me," Phryne laughed at the memory of squeezing and massaging her breast to get the milk into the cup, "then Dot gave it to her, drop by drop, three droppers!"

"We need to talk to Mac," he kissed her, he would have kissed Dot but didn't want to frighten her, "tell her there is hope. Thank you, Dorothy," he smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder.

Dot just smiled.

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Mac lifted her head off the desk and blinked at the slightly excited and wide eyed Inspector.

"... so you see," he finished, "if there's a way Hope can be fed by dropper then perhaps ..."

"Seriously Jack," Mac had to burst his bubble, "she's too tiny. Babies like Hope, if they do make it are more likely to have health needs as they go on."

"Mac ..." he took her by the shoulders, "we can't give up so easily. She's made it overnight, we have to fight for her."

Of course Jack didn't know how many times she had seen these babies give up the fight and she didn't want her best friend to have her hopes dashed so cruelly.

"Mac ..." he was on the point of shouting at her. Her shoulders slumped.

"I'll show her how to use a breast pump," she sighed, "but don't get her too excited, she'll have to be fed every hour, it's exhausting."

"I'll have our nanny come over, she and Dorothy, together with Phryne ... and me ... we'll take shifts, mother too."

"Are you taking time off work, Inspector?"

"If I have to, or short days, whatever it takes. The Commissioner's a family man ..." he hoped he would understand.

"You know men aren't supposed to get involved in baby care, don't you?"

"And who decreed that?" he raised his eyebrows, "some faceless, childless male doctor, I suppose."

"Probably," she shrugged. "Come on, let's go and get a breast pump."

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Phryne found the breast pump a little uncomfortable but it did the job she needed doing so she bore all as best she could. Tommy continued to feed well and Mac said he would soon be able to go home.

"But I can't," Phryne pouted, "because of Hope." She wasn't enjoying her stay in hospital but she couldn't take Hope home yet, she had to be thriving and growing, and at least heading for five pounds before Mac would release her.

Mac sighed, she still clung to the belief that the little girl would make it but her gain was slow.

"We'll have to stay until she is ready to leave, too," Phryne rocked Tommy in her arms as she stared into the incubator where Hope slept. The little chest rose and fell rhythmically and the tiny limbs flexed occasionally. The team of carers had fallen into a routine, coming and going, feeding and changing her, turning her and talking to her as the days came and went.

Mac was surprised when she passed the official lying in period that Hope was still fighting her battle. She lifted her out of the incubator, undressed her, which had her whimper at the coolness of the air, and weighed her.

"Hm, she's gained, three pounds twelve ounces now," she replaced the clothes and returned her to the incubator.

"That's good, isn't it?" Phryne reached in and stroked her head, "clever girl," she whispered.

"Well, it's less than she should have gained but better than I expected," Mac admitted, perhaps she would make it, but she had been in medicine long enough to know nothing was certain in infants.

"She tried to suck on the dropper this morning, and yesterday, I wondered if I could try her on me," Phryne mused, "she might get more that way."

"Well, as she seemed determined to do the opposite of what I expect, why not," Mac sighed, she had given up arguing with Phryne. She had visitors, her mother, Mrs Stanley, Jem and Jane; Mr Butler had brought the gramophone player over so she could have some music and books for her to read. Heavens, Jack even brought a case file over now he had gone back to working at the station, albeit shorter days there and bringing any paperwork with him.

The Baroness was more on Mac's side regarding the little girl, agreeing that it was only a matter of time before she gave up, but Mrs Stanley was firmly on Phryne's side, having gone through similar when Arthur was born. In fact she had even given Hope a feed on one of her visits.

"If love can conquer all, Phryne darling," she had smiled, "then Hope will be fine."

"Thank you, Aunt P, can you mention that to mother," Phryne sighed, "only she really wanted me to give up on her."

Prudence rolled her eyes, "She wasn't much help with Arthur, when he was born either."

So Phryne placed Tommy in his crib and picked up Hope, forgetting how much lighter she was.

"Goodness, Miss," she smiled, "we need to get you filled up."

It took some patience on Phryne's part: Hope started by licking her mother's nipple and Phryne squeezed a little milk onto her tongue, then she tried to suckle, falling off a couple of times until she got the hang of it. But in the end she did manage a half decent feed.

She changed her into one of the small nappies Dot kept her supplied with and a tiny gown her companion had also made for her. In fact when Dot wasn't by her side helping with the babies she was putting her sewing machine to good use and making tiny gowns for the little girl, knitting for both of them at the bedside.

"The laundry must be hard-pressed to keep up with our washing, Dot," Phryne observed one day as she unpacked the fresh clothes.

"Oh, no Miss," Dot put a pile of gowns under Tommy's crib, "I do the babies things, pure soap for the gowns and a good stove top boil for the nappies."

"Dot!" Phryne was shocked it was too much work, "you are doing far too much."

"Actually, Miss, I was thinking," Dot sat down, "you know we could fit a washing machine in the kitchen ..."

"Really?" she raised her eyebrows, Dot had been scared of the telephone when she first started working for her.

"Yes, and it would be handy, as the children grow ... me and Mr Butler have been thinking quite hard about it. We could still use the laundry for the bigger things, like bed linen - but for clothes ..." Dot did not usually advocate her mistress spending more money than was necessary but it was true, she and Mr Butler had spent some time discussing it and she thought she was brave enough to use another electrical appliance.

"Do you really think it would be a good investment?"

"Oh yes, Miss, children generate a lot of washing." Dot nodded emphatically.

"Well," Phryne was still a little bit shocked, "I shall leave you and Mr B to it, find the one you think is best and order it."

"Right, because if Miss Hope keeps going the way she is, you'll be home in no time."

"I do hope so, Dot, these walls are closing in on me."

"I think you've done extremely well, Miss, I'd have been climbing the walls as well."

"Everybody has been so helpful, Dot; you and nanny, Aunt P, Jack (of course), being here, bringing in the hampers, helping to feed Hope, keeping me company ... even Jem and Jane have visited daily."

Dot noticed she didn't mention her mother.

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Now Hope was feeding better, more often than her brother and for shorter sessions she really began to gain weight. At two months old and weighing just short of five pounds Mac deemed her strong enough to leave the hospital.

"I don't think you can do anything more than you are doing here, at home, Phryne," she sighed, "she's barely in the incubator now, feeding well - it's a day I thought I'd never see."

"Pessimist," Phryne huffed.

"I've seen too many not make it, old friend, more don't than do, but I guess she's your daughter and always going to buck the trend."

"I should think so, too," Phryne bent and kissed her cheek.

"I will call daily just to keep an eye on her."

"Thanks, Mac, I appreciate it."

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The red raggers brought the taxi round to collect the gramophone, books and other things that had been brought to the hospital to keep Phryne occupied and from going stir crazy. Jack drove the Hispano over because he said his children should go home in style. Dot carried Tommy and, because it was a little cool and there was a breeze, Phryne put Hope inside her coat and cradled her there for the drive home.

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Nanny and Mr Butler were waiting at the door when Jack drew up in front of the house.

"Now my job begins in earnest, eh, Mr Butler?" she smiled.

"Most likely, though I think Mrs Fisher Robinson is going to be more hands on than any of us ever thought."

"Well, at least until the babies are weaned," she shrugged.

Mr Butler thought it would be more than that. He had seen her, in the hospital, and he knew his mistress well. From not being someone who cooed over new babies she seemed to have come to be a mother in the full sense of the word. How many women in her position would have stayed so close to her baby, the one who was supposed to quietly pass from this world into the next, and bring her through that most harrowing of times.

"Welcome home, Miss," Mr Butler greeted her with a wide grin.

"Thank you Mr B," she smiled back, "it's lovely to be back." She looked round the hallway, "lovely, and do I smell fresh baking?"

"Indeed, Miss," he stepped aside and nodded, "biscuits just out of the oven, and scones. Shall I bring tea through to the parlour?"

"Please," she let Jack help her out of her coat, "are the cradles there?"

"They are, Miss, all ready for Master Thomas and Miss Hope."

She handed Hope to Nanny and took off her hat.

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The following days were taken up with visitors; Mrs Stanley appeared with gifts for the babies, teddy bears and shawls and a locket for Phryne.

"To put their pictures in, dear," she smiled, "I thought ..."

"It's lovely Aunt P," Phryne's eyes filled with tears, "so thoughtful, and yes, as soon as I can I shall indeed put their pictures inside."

"Has your mother visited?" Prudence asked, knowing the Baroness thought Phryne had been foolish to stay with Hope even when she had been told of the baby's progress.

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"She'll have difficulties, Prudence," Margaret had huffed, "much better if she had let her go."

"You know, Margaret, Phryne will fight tooth and nail for those she loves," Prudence had snipped, "I admire her for that."

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"Not yet," Phryne sipped her tea, "I believe she is seeing some old friends. Jack left a message at the Windsor to tell her we were home, all three of us."

"And other visitors?"

"Quite a few," Phryne smiled, "Lin and Camellia called, with traditional good luck gifts for the babies, Miss Charlesworth came and asked if she could put a picture in the magazine, and perhaps a short article ..."

"And?"

"Not sure, really, I don't want us to become a spectator sport," Phryne shrugged, "the Commissioner and his wife sent flowers," she indicated the display in the corner of the room, "even the Fleuri sisters have come calling."

"I can't see them knowing one end of a baby from another," Prudence huffed.

"Well, they did say they would have to wait a while before they were able to clothe Hope, but actually, Dot is rather good at that."

"Really?"

"Yes, because she is still smaller than average it's not easy to get things to fit her, so Dot has been making her little dresses and knitting cardigans for both of them."

"How sweet of her."

"Jack's mother has been over, she's been knitting too," Phryne lifted a blanket from Tommy's cradle.

"It's lovely," Prudence admired the fine stitch.

"There's one for Hope too, but Dot's had to wash that."

"Oh?"

"Hope was a bit greedy this morning, tried to take more than she can handle, just yet," Phryne shrugged, "she does sometimes. I think she's trying to play catch up with her brother."

"It's nothing to worry about, is it?"

Phryne shook her head, "Mac says not and it doesn't seem to bother her."

"Good, I'm glad. She's come a long way, Phryne."

"That she has."

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Henry sat in his study and re read the telegram from Jack. So he was now grandfather to twins, trust Phryne to do things her way. The telegram also stated that the Baroness was staying at the Windsor in Melbourne - so that was where she had gone. He knew, deep down that he had made a mess of things. His relationships with his wife, his first family, his second family had all gone south, to his way of thinking. They had had a huge argument shortly before she left the house. She had called him selfish, which he supposed he was, that he didn't care a fig for her or Phryne, which wasn't true, he cared deeply for them but he was useless at showing it. He wondered if he could find enough funds to go over and see them, see his grandchildren, perhaps try and mend some fences. He wondered how Phryne was with the babies, she usually stayed a million miles away from anything that small.

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"He'll probably try and come over," Phryne huffed when Jack told her he had informed her father of the twins' birth.

"I thought he should know," Jack sat next to her on the chaise longue and put his arm round her, "I doubt your mother will have informed him."

"No chance," she huffed, "she's being quite difficult at the moment. I know father is a gambler and was not a good father, and what he did to his first family was dreadful, but they've been married just over thirty years, doesn't that count for something, on both sides? I mean she's always defended him, right or wrong, so why now? Is it because I told her about Jem, the whole truth?"

"It might have been the straw that broke the camel's back," he admitted, "but she had a right to know, as did he."

"I hope we can be better at this family thing than they have been Jack, I do worry about it, you know." She lay her head on his shoulder.

"Honesty, that's what's needed, Phryne, between you and me, even if it's hard," he kissed the top of her head, "tell me if you are about to do something rash, but don't change who you are, please. Just remember what's waiting for you at home when you go out and chase down a murderer. If we do things together we'll get through it."

"I'll do my best," she sighed.

"I can't ask any more than that."

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Apart from the time he had spent at home, wondering where his wife had gone, Henry had time on the voyage to think about how he should proceed. It wasn't easy, being contrite didn't come easy to him, he still had grand ideas but he knew most of these would not come to fruition. He had to stop dreaming and embrace the harsh realities of life: he was not a rich man, a title did not automatically give one riches for life, he was sixty years old and had to accept he hadn't done anything useful for most of those sixty years, certainly not for the last thirty of them. When he thought about it he even disappointed himself!

Second class wasn't so bad. A small cabin to himself, passable food and a glass of wine with his meal, his nerve tonic still kept him going. He wondered what class Margaret had sailed under, when she left him to return to Australia.

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Henry stood at the top of the gangplank and surveyed the docks. Not having told Phryne he was on his way or when he would arrive there was no one to greet him, but that was fine, he could make his way to her house after finding some kind of lodgings. He wouldn't go to the Windsor, even though Margaret was there, a small guest house would suit. Yes, he would start this way, not quite penny pinching but prudent.

The guest house was just that; bed and breakfast, dinner by arrangement. The room was clean, small but enough for his needs and affordable.

He wandered the streets of Melbourne during the evening, bought the last pie from a cart that was closing up for the day and waited near the Windsor to see if he could spot his wife.

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"I'm sorry, Baroness," the concierge pursed his lips, "your belongings are stored for you and we have been asked by Mrs Fisher Robinson to see that you have a room on your return."

She was escorted to a small suite on a different floor to that she had been on before. The suite was actually smaller than the last one, but it had a sitting room and bathroom adjoining the bedroom. She wasn't pleased, Phryne should not have stopped the room. She was only away a week, maybe a couple of days more.

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Henry sent a telegram, one that he hoped would change the course of his life, or what was left of it. He wasn't sure Margaret would like it but now he had someone to leave something to, the line would not die out with him, there was Jem to carry it on. Doing business by telegram wasn't the best way, but all he was doing, he hoped, was confirming what he had set in motion before he left England. He had managed to sell the London house and spend some of the proceeds on a farm. It was a good farm, sold as a going concern, the previous owner having died. There was land, a lovely house kept in fine condition, a farm manager that had promised to stay on; yes it was a good investment. He would see Phryne once he heard back from the solicitor, for once things had to go the right way.

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"Hello, mother," Phryne looked up from feeding Hope, Thomas was lying on her legs as she sat on the bed, "how were your friends?"

"They were well, thank you, Phryne ..."

"Yes?"

"I've been moved, at the Windsor."

"Yes, well, I'm not prepared to pay for an empty suite, mother," she hummed, "and I didn't know when you were coming back. Contrary to popular belief I'm not made of money."

"It's small," Margaret continued, "and shouldn't you be weaning these two now?"

Phryne blinked at the about turn on the conversation. "Er yes, well, Thomas is trying some solids but Hope isn't quite ready, yet."

There was a knock at the door and the nanny entered.

"Is Master Thomas ready to try some dinner, Mrs Fisher Robinson?"

"I'm sure he is," Phryne laughed, "what do we have for him today?"

"Mixed vegetables followed by mashed banana," Nanny picked up her charge from the bed, "should be interesting."

"Lovely," his mother smiled.

There was a silence once Nanny had left. Phryne continued to feed Hope and Margaret continued to watch. She noted the baby was still small, for her age, but seemed to be thriving. Perhaps Phryne was destined to be a good mother, but then she had money at her disposal and staff and a nice home ... she sighed.

Phryne looked up as she put Hope to her shoulder and patted her back.

"Come to dinner tonight, mother," she offered, "the babies will be settled for bed - hopefully ..."

"Thank you, dear, that would be lovely."

'For you,' thought Phryne, 'maybe.' She would have to talk to Jack, that's what they agreed to do, to talk - about anything and everything.

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"I don't know what's going through her head, Jack," Phryne finished her make-up, "she was fine until the babies came, now she seems ... I don't know." She threw up her hands.

"Jealous?" he offered.

She considered that for a moment, "Maybe, I have more than she did when I was born, but ... I think there's more to it than that. She left father, now she relies on me for accommodation ..."

"In a way she has less, doesn't she," he tied his tie, "she doesn't have a home, she's left her husband ..."

"I have everything she wanted - and more," she reached up and placed her hand on his arm, "I have you."

He bent down and kissed her, slowly and deeply.

"Mac gave me the all clear today," she smirked, "and a new device."

"Well, perhaps we should hope our guest leaves early, tonight," he raised one eyebrow and returned the smirk.

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Dinner was a little strained. Margaret was sulking, a state Phryne was more used to in her father than her mother. She couldn't get anything out of her about her friends and she thought she knew everyone her mother knew in Australia. Fortunately they had Jane and Jem to lighten the conversation with stories of their day at school. Jem had really settled well and was thriving with like-minded boys. They had spent the afternoon stripping down a car engine, identifying the parts and drawing a diagram.

"Tomorrow we have to put it back together," he grinned round a mouthful of chicken.

"Not with your mouth full Jem," Phryne frowned.

He swallowed. "Sorry, but we do, and start it," his eyes were wide with joy.

"Well you've had plenty of practice with Cec and Bert," Jack reminded him.

"Yeah, and we, that is me and Alfie, were the quickest," he had formed a friendship with one particular boy; so much so that Alfred (Alfie to his mates) spent quite a bit of time with Jem in one of the outhouses that had been turned into a little workshop for him.

"Well done, you," Phryne smiled.

"Is that really the thing for a future Baron to be doing?" Margaret huffed.

"That's a long way off, mother," Phryne wiped her mouth, "Jem needs to be able to earn a living and has a desire to use a motorcycle to carry important documents around the city, don't you Jem?"

He nodded, mindful of the fact that his mouth was now full of potatoes.

Margaret turned her attention to Jane, perhaps she had something more suitable to talk about.

"History test, science," Jane shrugged, "we get to dissect a frog next time." Margaret shuddered and fanned her face with her napkin, feeling a little warm.

"Are you alright, mother?" Phryne asked, concerned.

"Perfectly fine, it's just a little warm in here," she sniffed.

Phryne thought she might ask Mac a pertinent question or two, her mother was of a 'certain age', she considered. That could also account for her short temper and snide remarks.

They were interrupted just then, by Nanny.

"Excuse me, madam," she spoke to Phryne, "but Miss Hope needs you."

"Of course," she stood up, "please excuse me, go on with your meal."

Jack and Jem both stood as she left the room.

"She really should be weaning Hope by now," Margaret muttered.

"Her digestive system is probably still a little immature," Jane let Mr Butler take her plate, "being so small when she was born everything may take a little longer ..."

Everybody turned and looked at her.

"... according to Dr Macmillan ... I asked, as Tommy is now on some solids."

"Ah," Jack mused, "it never occurred to me, I just assumed she was being like her mother - stubborn."

Jane and Jem laughed at the idea that a three month old should have the mental ability to think such things, Margaret looked from one to the other and sighed. When her girls were babies they weren't supposed to have minds of their own.

She left shortly after that. Jem and Jane had excused themselves and gone to their rooms, via the nursery, to read and get ready for bed.

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Jack poked his nose into the nursery. He smiled to see Phryne settling Hope in her cot and Tommy fast asleep, his cherubic face turned to face his sister.

"Alright?" he whispered.

"Yes," she smiled at him, "they're fine."

"And you?" he wrapped his arms round her.

"I'm fine - but I might be finer ..." she traced a finger down his lapel and licked her lips suggestively.

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Admittedly Phryne felt a little nervous that Jack may not like what he saw. But as he slowly undressed her, kissed and touched her, her insecurities began to melt away. Yes, her belly was soft from the pregnancy, her breasts larger and she had a few stretch marks but he made her feel beautiful. He kissed every little mark that was new, stroked the new softness then he pulled her over him and let her guide him into her and set up a rhythm that suited her. He followed her lead and thrust at first gently into her.

"Harder, Jack," she grunted between gritted teeth, "please ... oh god ... Jack." He pushed up and filled her, over and over again.

She began to flutter around him as her sweet spot connected with him.

"You first," he grunted, "Phryne," he didn't think he could hold off much longer and he longed to see her come undone above him a she so often did.

"Jaack!" she flung her head back and arched her back and he felt her tighten around him as the climax washed over her and he followed with a roar.

She held him as long as she could, gulping for air, before falling forward and draping herself over his chest. He pulled the covers over them and wrapped his arms across her back.

"You're beautiful," he stroked her hair.

"I love you, Jack," she kissed his chest.

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She awoke in the middle of the night and rolled off Jack. A small whimpering was coming from the nursery, probably Hope, she tended to whimper rather than cry. Enough time to attend to her own needs and put the device away, pull a nightgown over her head before seeing to her daughter.

Hope's bottom lip was trembling and her little arms were waving in the hope of finding her mother.

"Come on sweetie," Phryne lifted her out of the cot, "let's get you a snack, eh, and a clean derriere."

Jack, having realised he wasn't as warm as he had been went to find her. He smiled to see her sitting in the chair specifically bought for her to nurse her babies in, stroking Hope's tiny head and singing to her as she suckled.

"'Let's misbehave' is an odd choice for a lullaby," he squatted in front of her and smiled.

"First thing that came to mind," she reached out with her free hand to cup his cheek.

"I wonder why?"

She tipped her head to the side and gave a quiet chuckle.

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"Well," Mac handed Hope back to her mother, "she's doubled her birthweight."

"Excellent," Phryne kissed her little girl, "must be the bananas."

"Bananas?" Mac queried.

"Yes, we've tried her on bananas, peaches and mushed up vegetables." Phryne laughed, "bananas are her favourite."

"So what are you feeding Tommy?" Mac lifted the heavier baby out of his basket.

"Vegetables, potatoes, anything you can mush up, really," she settled Hope, "he's very much like his father for food."

"Good."

Mac put the things she had used away and added her observations to the notes.

"All good, my dear Phryne," she sat back in her chair. "I think Hope will always be small but I have a feeling she will make up for her size with her personality."

"That's what Jack says." She tipped her head and pursed her lips, "Mac, can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything you like, you know that. What's troubling you?"

Phryne decided against arguing that anything was 'troubling' her but she did have concerns.

"Mother. She thought I should leave Hope to her fate, commented that I started to wean her later than Thomas and she has been, well, moody, of late."

"Hm," Mac looked up at the ceiling and thought. "How old is she, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't, you're a doctor, she's forty-nine," Phryne answered.

"Could be the change of life, hot flushes?"

"Aha, fans herself with a napkin and says it's too warm, even if the windows are open. Grumpy when I asked the Windsor to store her things when she went off to see some friends and then she got assigned a smaller suite."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I wasn't made of money ..."

Mac raised an eyebrow.

"... well I'm not, I invest wisely and bank my fees in a separate account which almost pays for the running of the house," She huffed.

"I supposed you learnt a lot in your formative years."

"And when I was in France, someone had to keep us going, and it wasn't going to be Rene, he hardly earned a sou."

"Quite, well, there is no treatment I would offer for the menopause, but cut down her alcohol, a healthy diet, lots of fresh air ..." Mac sighed, "it's not much fun, but then neither is the menstrual cycle."

"No, I suppose not; it's the moods, she snipes at Jem about working for a living, as a future Baron, that is. It seems to have come on quite suddenly."

"Or it was already coming on but now she feels perhaps settled, away from Henry, she allowing it to come to the fore, especially as you have her in a smaller suite at the Windsor."

"She wanted to stay with us, which is only fair, she is my mother after all, but now the house is quite full, the only spare room is Dot's and that's at the top of the house. She wasn't too happy about that, but it's since I insisted on giving Hope the benefit of the doubt ..."

"Yes, well, you blind-sided us all on that, as did she. But I'm glad you did, I don't mind being proved wrong in this case."

"Happy to oblige," Phryne smiled, "well, I shall get back before one or the other, or both, need feeding. Come for dinner one night, you know you're always welcome."

"You'll get no argument on that, my friend," Mac laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

Henry watched his daughter wheel the pram out of the hospital. She looked the epitome of refined motherhood as she stopped for a moment and peered at one of the occupants and patted the blanket. He supposed she was heading home and hoped that her visit to the hospital was not because there was something amiss with one of the twins.

He had spent the better part of a week wandering the streets of the city, watching his wife go between the Windsor and Wardlow, sometimes with a grim expression on her lovely face. He'd watched Phryne and Jack, sometimes just Phryne, take the babies for a walk, stop in the gardens and sit for a while then return to attend to the babies needs, he supposed. Sometimes she was accompanied by Jane and a young boy, he suspected this was his grandson, Jem, a boy he never knew existed until under a year ago. He'd seen Prudence visit and another older lady he didn't know. Everybody seemed to have a smile on their faces, except his wife. Why? She had seemed so pleased that Jack and Phryne had married and though angry about his deceit over his first marriage he thought she'd be happy to be a grandmother.

Now was the time to see Phryne, to tell her what he had done. He had all the papers in an envelope, the solicitor's telegram confirming that all was well at the farm; for him it would be a new start and though he knew nothing about farming, he did know that people would always need food and he had a manager to keep things ticking along.

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Phryne had no need to be on her guard around the city, not at the moment, so she didn't pay any attention to people as they passed her on the street. Pushing a double ended pram meant she did get some, mainly women, speak to her as they passed, say how sweet the babies were and wasn't the little one a cutie?

Phryne would roll her eyes but reply sweetly that she had a big personality.

She pushed the pram up to the back door of the house. There was washing on the line, the new washer had been bought and proved very useful, the door was open and she could see Dot and Mr Butler drinking tea at the table and conversing about something serious, she thought, judging from Dot's face.

"Hello," she smiled, lifting Tommy out, "two small ones for lunch."

"Hello, Miss," Dot stood up and took the baby, "just in time, it should be cool enough, I'll call Nanny."

Nanny was putting the laundry away, sorting out the things the twins had grown out of and setting them aside for ... Dot? It was about time the young woman produced her own child, she knew how much Dot wanted a child, and the Priest was on her back about it. She looked up as Dot entered the nursery with Tommy.

"Ah, back from entertaining Dr Macmillan, young man," she smiled, "I hope you were on your best behaviour."

"Miss Phryne hasn't said otherwise," Dot laughed, "Miss Hope is just waking."

"Right, lunch for two, then Dot," she stood up and took the baby, "let's get you comfortable first."

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While Dot was upstairs Phryne asked Mr Butler if there was anything wrong.

"Dot looked tense, in fact it's not a look I've seen on her face since she had to persuade Hugh she could be a working wife."

"Well, I shouldn't break a confidence, Miss, but, shall we just say 'Father Grogan'," he hummed.

"Oh, I see, no children - yet."

"Quite, Miss, but I'll let her tell you, I've told her to confide in you," he put spoonfuls of unidentifiable mush in two bowls.

"Good oh," she smiled, at which her daughter chose to wake. "Lunchtime, Hope."

"All good at the hospital?" Nanny stepped into the kitchen with Tommy.

"First rate, Nanny," Phryne grinned, "keep feeding them up with whatever," she waved her hand at the bowls, "you give them, it seems to be working."

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With lunch over, the babies tucked up in their cradles Phryne decided she should have a chat with Dot. She had been quiet over lunch and had toyed with her food.

She patted the chaise next to her, "Sit, Dot," she smiled, "something's bothering you, and I don't like it."

"It's nothing, Miss," Dot fussed with the vase on the bureau.

"Now, now, Dot, I know that look, someone's upset you, and it isn't Hugh, 'cos then you just get angry," Phryne insisted.

It was true, when Dot and Hugh had a disagreement she would crash about a bit, or give some poor unsuspecting piece of laundry a thorough rubbing on the washboard to get it out of her system. So far, Phryne's china had survived.

"I went to Mass this morning and Father Grogan caught me ..." her shoulders slumped.

"Children?"

Dot nodded, "I told him sometimes it doesn't happen, he has married women in the congregation that are childless, and it takes time."

"Dot dear, what would a celibate man know about any of this, he probably thinks Hugh only has to take his trousers off and you're in the family way," Phryne squeezed her hand and Dot smiled a little at that, "but if you are worried I can ask Mac to see you, if you want."

"Oh no, Miss," she flushed, "it will either happen or it won't ..."

"I feel a little guilty, Dot," Phryne sighed, "I caught rather quickly, without trying, so perhaps try less and have more fun." She raised her eyebrows and grinned cheekily.

Dot looked at her and began to grin, "And I could always tell Father Grogan that I was thinking of perhaps moving to the Protestant church."

"Haven't you tried that one before?" Phryne though back to when Hugh was converting.

Dot shrugged, "Maybe, but it does make him back off a bit."

They continued to talk about this and that and Dot relaxed until the doorbell sounded.

"Are you expecting anyone, Miss?" Dot stood up.

"Only mother, but I expect her every day," Phryne shrugged, "so, no."

The parlour door opened.

"Your father to see you, Miss," Mr Butler opened the door wider to reveal said family member and Phryne sighed.

"Father," she stood up, "I wondered how long it would be before you turned up."

"Phryne," he turned the envelope round in his hand, "I wondered if you would cast an eye over this."

"Tea Miss?" Dot made to leave.

"Hm? Oh, yes please, Dot," Phryne eyed the envelope and motioned her father to sit down.

"Congratulations, by the way," he offered quietly, "on the twins."

"Oh, thank you," she sat down and took out the paperwork for the farm.

There was silence as she read through the manager's report for the last year, the financial state of the property, the forecast for the coming twelve months and, to her surprise, it didn't seem like a pig in a poke.

"So," she looked at him, almost eager as a schoolboy, "why would I want to read this."

"I've bought it," he held up his hands as she made to argue, "I know, I know nothing about farming, but I do know people need to eat, and the house in London is not much to leave to the future Baron, Jem should have something worth more. It cost less than I made from selling the house, runs and pays for itself and will provide a profit if it is allowed to. This time, Phryne, I want to do it right. I haven't many years left and I know it's a bit late for me to see sense and stop dreaming, but ..."

She drew her brows together waiting for the catch.

"Here," he passed a photograph over to her, "this is the house, big enough, but not too big, room if you should come to visit, with the family. Dairy and beef cattle, wheat ..."

She looked at the picture, a typical English farmhouse, she thought, Georgian in style, surrounded by a small private garden, cows could be seen in the foreground either side of a long drive.

"Well," she hummed then stopped as Dot brought in tea and scones, "I suppose it is a much better idea than buying another three legged racehorse, or betting on one, but you can't start taking money out of the profits for luxuries. Time to live quietly."

"I agree, though I've no idea what your mother will say, or if she will come back with me."

Phryne didn't know the answer to either of those questions either.

"Where are you staying?" Margaret had said nothing about seeing him at the Windsor.

"A small guest house, suits my purpose, which was to see you, hopefully talk to your mother, a bed and board, dinner if I arrange it." He sipped the tea and helped himself to another of Dot's perfect scones.

She arched an eyebrow, so far it seemed as if Henry had had an epiphany.

"Dine with us tonight," she blurted out, "you can meet Jem, and the babies, though they're not great conversationalists just yet."

"Lovely. I saw you, earlier, at the hospital," he admitted a little shame faced, "there isn't anything wrong, is there?"

"No, just a check on their growth. I take them to Mac rather than her having to bring the scales and stuff she needs. They're doing well, I'll ask Nanny to bring them down now, if you like."

"I would like that, Phryne, very much." He smiled, a genuine warm smile that she had forgotten he had.

She went up the stairs wondering on her father's change of attitude. Oh, she knew he could be like this, rarely, but it did happen, that he was warm and loving when things went well and the farm did seem to be a good investment. Of course it could all go the way she was used to, downwards, time would tell.

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Nanny passed her Tommy and picked up Hope.

"They've just been changed, so they're quite fragrant at the moment," she smiled.

"Thank you, Nanny," she laughed, "now son of mine, time to meet your grandfather." The baby stirred in her arm and nuzzled against her.

"Just like your father," she huffed.

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Henry stood up as the door opened to reveal his daughter cradling a baby. The child was dressed in a little white shirt and button on blue romper shorts, one foot was encased in a sock the partner of which was held by his mother.

"This is Tommy, father," she motioned him to sit and passed the baby to him, "and this," she turned to Nanny and took Hope, "is Hope."

Hope was dressed in a white dress, smocked across the chest and embroidered round the hem with little blue flowers. She still had both socks on.

"She's much smaller," he observed.

Phryne sat opposite him and sighed. "Hope was very small, at birth, just over three pounds."

He gasped.

"Nobody expected her to make it, except Dot, Dot knew someone else who had a tiny baby and how they saw to her feeding. It's thanks to Dot that she's here."

"And you, Phryne, what did you think?"

"Even now I'm not sure I was rational, but I never gave up hope. Mother, Mac, the nurses all said she wouldn't make it. Aunt Prudence said that if love conquers all then she would make it. We didn't know I was expecting twins, but here they are." Phryne stroked Hope's sparse dark hair.

"I never expected you to become a mother, I don't think I expected you to marry, you do like to surprise us all, don't you?"

"Well, I didn't expect it, either, but here I am, and I'm happy with it, though I doubt I shall have any more, it wasn't a pleasant experience." She pouted.

"Well, you have Jane and Jem, so four children in a house where no one expected any is plenty, don't you think?"

"I do," she nodded.

It was arranged that Henry would join the family for dinner that evening, and Phryne told him she would ask her mother to be there, too.

"She joins us most evening, father, but I must warn you she is a little snippy at the moment - I think it's her age," she added the last in a whisper.

"Ri i ight," he mused, "I'll try to be on my best behaviour then."

"Please, I'd appreciate that," she saw him out of the door and closed it.

"Miss," Dot came running as she heard the door close, "is everything alright?"

"Hopefully, my father seems to have seen sense and has bought a farm," she frowned, "with a manager and good history. Seems he wants to leave something to Jem." She shrugged and headed to the kitchen, "the babies are in their cradles," she added over her shoulder. "Mr B!"

"Miss Fisher," he looked up from preparing a sizeable leg of lamb.

"One extra for dinner, father is joining us. I'll just ring the Windsor and make sure mother is coming too, should be an interesting night."

"Indeed, Miss," he smiled and carried on adding the herbs to the meat.

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Margaret wasn't keen on the idea of dining with her husband but Phryne insisted.

"I want nothing more to do with him, Phryne, he has deceived me once too often." She grumbled down the phone.

"You like Jem, well most of the time when the mood suits you," Phryne reasoned, "and after thirty years aren't you a bit quick to throw him over. What do you think you'll do, if you don't go back to him."

"I shall stay here," Margaret huffed.

In the hall Phryne looked heavenward for inspiration.

"I'm not paying for a suite at the Windsor indefinitely," she told her, "father is trying ..."

"Very."

"...trying hard, and what he has shown me looks good. I'm sure he knows this is his last chance."

Margaret harrumphed down the phone.

"Please come, mother," Phryne hated pleading, unless it was Jack she was up against, and then she had her ways to get what she wanted.

"Will Jane and Jem be at dinner?"

Phryne wondered if she should ask them to eat in the kitchen, earlier then perhaps they would have schoolwork to do, or something.

"They usually are," she left it there. She might even ask them if they wanted to be there, or not.

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Jack found Phryne in the nursery when he arrived home. It was just as well he had had an easy day, just a couple of thefts and finishing up the paperwork for another case because as the afternoon had worn on she had become more and more tense.

"Hello, love," kissed her head, "I believe it's been a bit of a day for you."

"Oh?"

"Dot mentioned your father had been and your mother is being ..."

"... difficult," she finished for him.

"So, what happened?"

She passed Hope to Nanny and reached out for his hand. He led her to the bedroom where they could talk privately and perhaps reduce some of her tension.

He listened while she paced the room and told him all about her father's new enterprise, which she so far approved of and said it was a better idea than many he had had in the past. She threw her hands up in despair over her mother's idea that she could stay in Melbourne indefinitely and he agreed that she could not be expected to pick up the bill at the Windsor forever.

"Parents!" she huffed, "What do I do, Jack?

"Well," he pulled her to sit on the bed next to him, "I suggest we see how it plays out. If, as you say, the farm is a good idea and if it could work to bolster the Fisher finances then I think she should be encouraged to follow him back to England. If she refuses to go then suitable lodgings need to be found for her, a small apartment, or a little bungalow perhaps."

"Do you think Jane and Jem should join us for dinner?"

"Do they want to?"

"Jem says he'd like to meet his grandfather, Jane isn't worried either way."

"Well, in that case introduce Jem to him, and then perhaps they can eat in the kitchen. They won't have to witness a row between their grandparents ... and Jem can have seconds without getting the evil eye from your mother."

She giggled remembering one meal when Margaret had muttered something about Jem being greedy. He'd cheerfully announced that it would be rude to leave food after Mr Butler had spent so much time preparing it.

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After some more soothing words, and deeds, from her husband, Phryne felt ready to face her parents and try and pour oil on troubled water. Suitably dressed in a sea green dress that settled on her knees, with a cowl neckline and short split sleeves, Phryne descended the stairs on Jack's arm. They found Jem and Jane sitting either side of Henry looking at the picture of the farm and asking questions about it.

"Ah, Phryne, Jack," Henry stood up and smiled broadly, "sorry. Introduced myself to Jem."

"Oh, right, sorry I was delayed ..."

"Hope or Tommy?" Jane laughed.

Phryne just laughed for it was neither.

They were interrupted by Mr Butler announcing that the Baroness had arrived and showing her into the parlour.

"Margaret," Henry stepped towards her, hands outstretched, "I was worried."

"Henry, I doubt that," she sniffed.

Jem and Jane looked from one to the other and decided that their presence was no longer required.

"Right, well, we've got schoolwork to do," Jane grabbed Jem, "nice to see you again, Baron."

"Good to meet you, sir," Jem shook his hand, "good luck with the project."

"Project, Henry?" Margaret's voice rose.

"I have our daughter's approval, dear," he handed her the photograph he had been explaining to Jem and Jane, "not a gamble."

"Why are there cows by the drive?"

"It's a farm, dear, that's why," he explained patiently.

"A farm! I have no intention of being a farmer's wife!" she thrust the photograph back at him.

"And I have no intention of seeing you slaving away in the kitchen, dear, there is a housekeeper who is willing to stay on ..."

"Mother, father," Phryne stepped between them, "please, let's not start the evening bickering." She was saved by Mr Butler announcing dinner was served and to save her father's disappointment she took his arm and Jack was left to escort Margaret into the dining room.

As the evening wore on Margaret thought of every negative about living on a farm: the smells; better than Collingwood, mother; socialising; there is a village close by, dear, good works, you like doing good works ...

"There is enough space for you to have visitors stay, mother," Phryne sighed, "I've looked at the previous finances, and the forecast, and I think it is a good investment. Although I would never have thought of father as a gentleman farmer, but stranger things have happened."

"We would be comfortable, Margaret, not hugely wealthy, but you wouldn't want for necessities and I still have my attendance allowance for the House ..."

"So you would still go off and leave me ..."

"Only for as long as I have to debate an issue," he pushed his plate aside, "and it is close enough for me to travel daily, by train."

Margaret pouted, Jack though it was rather like Phryne's 'thoughtful pout' as opposed to her 'no chance pout', so he had some hope.

"Just give it a chance, mother," Phryne fervently wished Hope or Tommy would require her presence, she had told Nanny not to hesitate to send for her if need be.

But Margaret would not discuss the issue further, she asked for the taxi to be brought round to take her back to the Windsor, accepted her wrap from Mr Butler and without a backwards glance to her family she left.

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Cec and Bert dropped her at the front of the hotel and watched her go in, to them it looked as if the tables had turned and now Henry was the responsible one.

In her suite she kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat over the back of a chair. She looked around the room and sighed, she wasn't even going to get to stay in a small suite like this if she stayed in Melbourne. She had got so used to the luxuries living as a Baroness that she seemed to forget that not even her daughter had a bottomless pit of money. True not all aristocrats were rolling in money but all the ones she knew didn't flaunt their straightened circumstances so openly. Debt was prevalent in society it was usually ones name that was the currency that saw you through difficult times. She didn't feel tired and the book she had didn't pull her so she changed into a smart aubergine wool suit, dark low heeled shoes and a matching cloche, grabbed her handbag and headed out for a walk in the cool night air.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry I've taken so long to update, back to school - so little time to write. I hope this is worth the wait._

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After Henry left Wardlow, still hoping his wife would come round to the new way of thinking Phryne pummelled a few cushions in the parlour and cursed that her mother was being even more unreasonable than she ever had been.

Jack went upstairs, collected her bathing suit and changed into his; put on a casual pair of old trousers and jumper, grabbed a cotton day dress for her, her sandals and a couple of towels and headed back down to the parlour where his wife was still muttering unladylike comments about Margaret.

"The foreshore," he held up her bathing suit, "swim?"

She looked at him, shrugged and stripped there and then. She pulled on the costume and dress, slipped into the sandals and took the arm he held out for her.

A vigorous swimming session with Jack beat most of the anger out of her. A quick ravishing behind the bathing boxes took the rest and it was a much calmer Lady Detective that returned to Wardlow on the arm of the Detective Inspector.

"Thank you, Jack," she turned to him, "that was a good idea."

"I have them occasionally," he smirked, "I guessed that trying to talk to you in that mood was not going to take the edge off your anger, and physical exertion is often a good way to blow off some steam."

"And there wouldn't be enough physical exertion in the bedroom?" she quipped.

He tipped his head to one side and smirked, "We can give it a go, if you've got any energy left," he winked.

She batted his arm and they headed up the stairs.

They bathed together, he washed the salt out of her hair and she did the same to him. They made love in the bath and finally fell into bed sated and exhausted.

Hope woke her a couple of hours later, but, because of her husband's ministrations she was perfectly happy to be disturbed and spend some time with her tiny daughter, though she was growing. Dot had only remarked that very day that she was outgrowing some of the little dresses she had made for her.

Tommy needed less of her these days, taking his nourishment from the mushed up whatever, as Phryne referred to his food, and ending his meals with a drink from her and morning and evening, it was rare he woke during the night.

As she returned to bed the phone rang. Jack groaned and turned over before heading to the hallway to find out who was disturbing his much needed rest.

"Robinson," he grunted down the receiver. There was an audible sigh from Hugh.

"Sir, there's been an attempted murder," he gabbled.

"Where, and who is the victim?" Jack rubbed his face with his free hand and blinked.

"Collingwood, Sir, it's ... it's the Baroness."

"I'm on my way."

"Sir, Miss Fisher?" Hugh was hopping nervously from one foot to the other.

"Not yet, Collins," he dropped his voice, "let's see what we have first."

"Sir."

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Mac was leaning over the battered form of Baroness Fisher when Jack arrived. Hugh had decided he'd better call her rather than whoever was on call, as she knew the family and would be able to talk to Miss Fisher more subjectively.

"Mac?" Jack squatted the other side of Margaret.

"Alive, unconscious, badly beaten, no identification, just lucky that Hugh was on duty," she closed up her bag.

"No bag?"

"No, and I know Margaret always carried a bag; purse, handkerchief, the usual female accoutrements." She shook her head.

"What was she doing in Collingwood at this time of night?" he pushed his hat back and scratched his head. Mac noticed he'd thrown on some clothes, not what he would usually wear to attend a scene or arrive at the station in, something that was close to hand.

"That's for you to find out," she shrugged, "now, I have an ambulance on the way so ..."

"I'll join you there, shortly, some door knocking to do and a thorough search of the area," he stood up, "not a word to Phryne, not just yet."

"Dinner?"

"Tense."

"Ah."

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Door knocking proved most unsatisfactory, but then Jack didn't expect anything else. Collingwood people didn't usually cooperate with the police, and it was the early hours of the morning. Apparently, nobody had heard anything, though he doubted Margaret gave up without a fight, nobody saw anything, no surprises there. The search of the area she had been found in gleaned a button, several broken bottles, mainly gin and beer, a few pearls - likely from the necklace she had been wearing that evening - her hat which had probably been kicked as she went down, but nothing else of note.

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He stood at the end of the bed and observed his mother in law. She looked smaller somehow, though she was taller than Prudence she was shorter that Phryne, not a big woman, not as slender as her daughter, a few too many good dinners had added some flesh to her bones. She was pale except for the large bruise across her forehead, there were dressings on her arms and according to Mac, her knees and shins.

"Lots of bruises and cuts and scratches," she read off her notes, "a boot shaped mark on her back where I suspect she has been held down to remove any jewellery she was wearing. Her earlobes have been torn, she has no rings on, not even her wedding ring, and I think something was ripped from round her neck."

"We found a few loose pearls in the lane," he mused, "she was wearing a pearl necklace this evening, perhaps she hadn't taken it off. She had obviously changed out of the dinner dress she wore ..."

"I see, I was surprised she was wearing a suit, it's not something she would wear to dine with friends or family."

"Prognosis?"

"Good, I think, from my initial examination, all the damage is external," she hung the notes on the end of the bed, "you can tell Phryne, now; now she is in no danger, and perhaps Henry?"

"Oh yes I'll let them both know, Henry is trying to change, and he does want her to go back with him. He's bought a farm, a good investment, Phryne says."

Mac just raised her eyebrows in surprised, though she shouldn't, anything the Fisher family did should be no surprise after all these years.

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Jack thought he'd let Henry know first, then he could go home, bathe, change into his suit and talk to Phryne. With luck she would be busy with the babies morning feed so she couldn't run out to the hospital without him giving her all the details. He was now sure it was not an attempted murder, just a theft gone wrong. Nobody 'attempted' murder in Collingwood.

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Henry ran his hands through his hair and gasped at the thought that his wife, who he loved with all the fibre of his being, had been attacked.

"Thing is, Henry," Jack sighed, "what was she doing in Collingwood at that time of night? I mean she should know it wasn't a good idea, it hasn't changed that much, if at all."

"You know how she was last night, Jack, I don't think it was a rational thought, or maybe she was just wandering," he shrugged.

"Is she prone to wandering about at night?"

"Not that I've noticed, but ..." he inhaled deeply, "of late, at home, we haven't shared the same part of the house, she moved into the spare suite after she got the letter about Jem, from Phryne. We barely spoke and then she left."

"Henry ..."

"Jack, I've been a lousy husband, a rotten father I just want this to be good, right. Phryne has no idea how proud I am of her that she has put me behind her, yet still has room to at least talk to me. " He stood up and wandered around the small room, "I can't do it alone, I need her there to ground me ..."

Jack watched him. Phryne had said he was a good actor, could charm the birds out of the trees, waltz all sense out of a woman but he didn't see him doing that this time, this time he really did want to change, to be the man his wife and daughter needed.

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Phryne was dressing when Jack returned to Wardlow. She eyed him up and down and was about to make a saucy remark when she noticed the sadness in his eyes.

"Jack?"

"Phryne," he pulled her to sit on the bed.

"You were called to a case," she stated it as a simple fact. It was the only reason he would have left the house in the early hours of the morning.

"Yes, in Collingwood. A woman, beaten and robbed."

"Oh," she looked at him, "Jack? What is it?"

"It's ... it's your mother Phryne ..."

"What!?"

"Your mother appears to have gone for a walk after she left us. She must have changed because she was wearing a suit, not the dress she wore to dinner. She was found by a constable on his rounds, pretty badly beaten, but ... she is alive, Phryne, Mac says she had a good chance, all the damage is external as far as she can see. She had her bag taken, earrings, necklace and rings," he held her by the arms and looked into her eyes.

"Why on earth would she go to Collingwood - at any hour of the day?" Phryne ran her hands though her hair, wide eyed and, frankly, scared.

"Only she knows the answer to that question," he pulled her down to sit, "now what would she carry in her handbag?"

"Um, not a lot, I don't think; some change, hanky, cheque book, perhaps," she frowned.

"Best let the bank know her cheque book may have been stolen," he mused, "well, if you want to go and see her I'll drive you over. Your father will already be there."

"Please, Jack." She stood up and turned to him, "I do love them, they're my parents, but they do infuriate me."

"And I am sure we'll do the same to ours," he stood and kissed her cheek.

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Henry was at Margaret's bedside when Phryne arrived. He was holding her hand and lightly kissing the fingers.

"Phryne," he made to stand.

"Don't get up, father," she pulled a chair to the other side of the bed, "how is she?"

"She stirred, about ten minutes ago," there were tears in his eyes, "your doctor says that's good."

"I spoke to her, she's positive," Phryne brushed a lock of hair from her mother's cheek.

"What was she doing in Collingwood, we don't have friends there," he sighed.

"I don't think we ever did, not really," Phryne straightened the sheet, that didn't need straightening, "mother was always a little ..."

"Mm," he nodded, "know what you mean."

"Not surprising," he continued, "I dragged her down there, she was born to better things and if I'd been a better husband she'd have had them long before we got the barony."

"That's in the past, father," she reached over to touch his hand, "this is the present, and we have to get it back on track. If you can keep the farm in the state you got it then the future looks brighter than it did."

"I intend to do my best, Phryne," he smiled, "I'm quite looking forward to a quieter life in the country."

Phryne hummed her agreement, though she supposed he would never be 'quiet'.

They sat discussing what the farm had to offer, the house and the small private garden. It all sounded quite bucolic to Phryne and not what she would want, she was city born and bred, but if it suited her parents then she would be happy.

Henry felt his wife squeeze his hand.

"Maggie," he stood up and brushed his hand over her forehead, "Maggie ..."

He rarely called her Maggie, Mags had been what Prudence called her, but he only called her Maggie in times of intimacy, quiet times when they were alone.

"Maggie, it's alright, you're safe," he whispered.

"Henry?" she groaned, "oh god, where am I?"

"Hospital, mother," Phryne stood up and looked down on her, "you got yourself into a bit of bother, last night."

"Phryne, what are you doing here?"

"I'm your daughter mother, it's where I should be," she smiled.

Margaret screwed up her face, her head hurt and she was sore from the cuts and scratches; her mouth was dry.

"Water, please," she licked her dry lips.

"Of course," Phryne poured a little into a glass and helped her sip it, "careful, mother, take your time."

"Maggie, do you remember what happened?" Henry urged.

"Uh, I went for a walk," she tried to push herself up.

"Into Collingwood? Why?"

"I ... I," she blinked, the light was really far too bright, "don't know."

"Rest, mother," Phryne smoothed her head, "it'll come back."

Margaret closed her eyes and relaxed into the pillows.

"I suppose we'd better let her sleep," Henry sighed.

"Yes, you stay, though, Mac says you can stay as long as you want," Phryne nodded, "I'll have Mr Butler send a hamper for you both, and I'll get mother's night things."

"Phryne..."

"It's ok father, it will be ok," she smiled sympathetically at him, "just believe it will work out."

"Is that what you do, Phryne, when things are going ill?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged, "sometimes it needs a little help."

Phryne left the room and thought she'd head home, though as Jack had driven her she realised she would have to walk. She smiled to see Cec and Bert leaning against the taxi just outside the hospital.

"Inspector thought you'd need a lift, sometime," Cec opened the door for her.

She blessed the thoughtfulness of her husband and sat back to think what she would need to do next. She couldn't spend all day and every day at her mother's bedside, the babies needed her as well as Jem and Jane.

"Where to, Miss?" Bert started the engine.

"Um, Wardlow, first, then to the Windsor, then back to the hospital, but not immediately."

"Right - ho," Bert pulled away from the kerb and drove off.

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Phryne sat in the kitchen and told Mr Butler and Dot what had happened. They immediately set about preparing a hamper while she went to see if the babies needed her. It was about time for Hope to have her mid morning feed, and being away from them she had missed them. She frowned at this thought.

"Ah, here's mumma," Nanny was cradling Hope who was whimpering for her, "I wondered if I should phone the hospital," she smiled.

"No, I've got things to do, but Hope first, then if Tommy needs me I'm here," Phryne shook her head, sat in the nursing chair and held out her arms for the baby. "Come on, sweetie," she lifted her blouse and exposed her nipple to the hungry child. "Ouch!" Phryne hissed, "easy there, it won't go away."

Hope settled to suckling at a more relaxed pace and Phryne stroked her head and hummed to her. "What have you been up to this morning?"

"They've been on the rug, Mrs Fisher Robinson," Nanny smiled, "playing with the toys and rolling over. Tommy is sitting for short amounts of time and Hope is trying to stay up too. I think they're both on the right road."

"Good, it looks like Hope might be less behind than we thought."

"She's just smaller, that's all," Nanny agreed, "but I bet she'll try to outdo him in everything."

"Runs in the family," Phryne grinned.

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The next twenty-four hours went by in a blur. Phryne took her mother her nightclothes and toiletries, Henry took a short break and bought her flowers and her favourite chocolates and they encouraged her to eat a little and drink some more water and lemon squash. She was still very sleepy and dazed and still didn't know why she was in Collingwood.

"I really don't know why I would even think of going down there, Henry," she sniffed, "it doesn't hold happy memories for me."

"Exactly, my dear," he smiled at her and kissed her fingers, "so ... were you taken their against your will?"

"Father," Phryne warned, "don't put words into her mouth." Though she did think this was the most likely scenario.

"Of course," he sighed.

"I'm sorry," she hiccupped, "I'm no help and I've been horrible lately and now you're being so lovely," she looked particularly at her husband.

"Mother," Phryne sat on the edge of the bed, "it's alright, I think I know what's bothering you and you don't have to worry about it. We both want you to get better, we'll find whoever it was who attacked you, and when you're well enough we'll sort out what you want to do. Now, I need to go and see to the twins, they still have need of me, I'll come back later. If you need me, Mac will ring me."

"I'm staying right here, my dear," Henry soothed, "unless you want me to go?"

"No ... no, please stay Henry, I have to apologise to you, too."

Phryne didn't think it was going to be one of their legendary fights and left them to it.

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"I'll drive you," Jack helped her into her coat. They had had dinner and it was Phryne's fourth trip to the hospital.

"I'll be fine, Jack," she reached for her hat.

"No problem," he lifted the car keys from her hand, "and I'd like to see how she's doing."

Phryne pursed her lips but resigned herself to a regular speed trip to the Women's Hospital. Jack's real reason for offering to drive her was to see she went home at a reasonable hour and got some sleep. He also wondered if the Baroness had any more memory of her walk the previous night, as trawling the pawnshops for a broken string of pearls and more door knocking in the lane where she was found had resulted in precisely nothing.

"What we need is Paddy," she shrugged as she processed all he told her, "he might be able to do a little digging, for a price."

They hadn't seen the boy since they had cleared up the case of his missing brother but Phryne thought she might be able to find him.

"I could put a note, wrapped round a cheese scone, where he and his brother pass things."

"At this time I'll take any ideas," Jack sighed, "I want this cleared up quickly, the thief caught and dealt with, before he does it to someone else."

"Right, I'll do that, then," she alighted from the car, "first thing in the morning."

"I'll get Albert or Cecil to do it," Jack offered her his arm, "they'll be available earlier."

She pouted, he grinned.

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Paddy appeared at the house munching on the cheese scone.

"Got yer note," he mumbled round the tasty mouthful.

"Mrs Fisher Robinson is in the parlour, Master Paddy," Mr Butler grinned, he had a soft spot for the boy and had prepared various treats for him.

"_Mrs_ Fisher Robinson, eh?" he grinned cheekily, even Collingwood had heard that the renowned Lady Detective had succumbed to domesticity.

"Indeed, mind you don't trip over a baby," Mr Butler knocked on the parlour door and announced him before he had chance to make another comment.

Phryne was laughing at Tommy who was crawling after a ball while Hope was only able to crawl backwards, and was getting increasingly frustrated as her goal got further away.

"Master Paddy, Miss," Mr Butler hummed.

"Ah Paddy, come in, watch Hope doesn't get under your feet." Phryne pushed herself up from the floor and went over to him.

"Two babies, Miss?" he gasped, "how did that happen?"

"You're not old enough to know," she teased.

"Missed me chance then?" he hummed.

"Ha ha," Phryne indicated he sit and she told him what she wanted him to find out, and why.

His eyed widened at the story and then he frowned.

"Well, Miss," he mused, "I ain't heard anything, but I did notice one or two more coppers about. They're not going to get anything, Collingwood folk don't talk to coppers."

"I know," she sighed, "that's why we thought you might be able to help. Mother's pearl necklace was broken in the struggle so anyone trying to offload some loose pearls, rings and earrings ..."

"Got ya," he nodded and helped himself to a large piece of quiche and glass of milk Mr Butler had thoughtfully brought in.

He left shortly after with a parcel of food and a bottle of lemonade that he could share with or bribe any other boys he knew.

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Paddy leant against a wall, near where Margaret had been found, munching on another treat from the Fisher Robinson kitchen and apparently just watching the world go by. He noted what people did, who spoke to who, little transactions that took place. If the necklace had been broken then the loose pearls would be on offer on the street, trade for a bottle or a little packet.

In the hours he spent observing, listening, Margaret started to improve, both in health and temper. She had confided in Phryne that she felt less of a woman, now, now things were changing with her. The shock that Henry had been married before and that she was getting older had cut her to the quick. Those first moments and the nights spent alone in her part of the house had left her thinking how much he loved her. Did he love her as much as she loved him? Would he have consigned Janey and Phryne to an orphanage had she succumbed to the cold hand of the flu or some poverty driven disease? These questions remained unanswered because she was afraid to ask them.

"I know he loves you, mother," Phryne played with the edge of the bed-sheet, "he's been worried about you, but too scared to come after you in case you told him it was finally over."

"Oh, I thought he didn't care," Margaret said sadly.

"He cares, more deeply than either of us realise. He said so, that time he missed the boat ... he said you were the love of his life. Perhaps he should have told you."

"There are a lot of things he should have told me, Phryne," she admitted, "but then there are a lot of things I should have told him - the man who waltzed reason out of my head."

Phryne laughed at that, she had had a similar thing happen to her.

"So you will go home with him, to the farm?" Phryne dared to ask.

"I expect so, it will be a quiet life, I suppose, but Henry has told me more about the village and the people there, perhaps I can be of some use," she looked wistful.

"I'm sure you can find something to do but wait to be asked, villagers don't like incomers who try to change things," her daughter smiled.

"Of course, now, what about those two little imps of yours?" Margaret changed the subject.

Phryne told her that the babies were rolling and crawling around the floors and eating anything they could get their little mouths round.

"It doesn't seem five minutes since you were moping around our house in London, darling," Margaret smiled, "and now a married woman and mother to twins."

"Mm, strange things, mother, strange things," Phryne laughed.

"Phryne," her mother mused, "I can't pretend I'm all that enthused about your father buying the farm, but he's explained that it is the best way forward, and for Jem ..."

"Give it a chance, mother," Phryne sighed, the way her mother flipped from one topic of conversation to another worried her, but maybe it was just her age. "I admit the idea of father as a gentleman farmer is an odd one, but there it is."

"Indeed."

A commotion outside the room stopped any further conversation.

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"You can't go in there!"

"Gerroff!" Paddy squirmed in the doctor's grip, "I have to see Mrs Fisher Robin ... ow!"

"What? ... Paddy!" Phryne closed the door behind her, "let him go," she put her hand on the boy's shoulder, "what have you got, Paddy? Apart from a black eye?"

"What, oh, yeah," Paddy shrugged away from the doctor and touched his eye. "Got yer pearls back," he held out a torn paper bag, "found a feller sellin' 'em for beer."

"I take it he didn't want to give them up?" she pulled him to sit in a chair outside her mother's room. "Paddy, we wanted information, you could have been more seriously hurt."

"Nah, he couldn't do any more, he fell over after he swung at me, drunk," he shook his head.

"I see, so was this just a chance encounter with a lady wandering round Melbourne?"

Paddy shrugged, "Dunno," he mumbled, "didn't have any rings or earrings on him, though, that I could see. He's probably sold those already."

"Possibly," she agreed. "Do you think there's any chance I could have a word with him? I'd like to know who he's working for, because if he was selling the pearls for beer then I'm thinking his handler was not a happy man."

"Seriously?" he gasped, "he stinks, can't hardly stand up, don't think he works for anyone, just like you said, bumped into her."

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Collingwood was much the same, dirty, smelly, teeming with rats, feral dogs, the underfed and over boozed. Men and women standing a little too close for propriety, children running from irate stall holders ... Phryne held her bag a little tighter, though she would put up a better fight than her mother.

Paddy pointed to a drunk, squatting at the corner of a lane. Two empty bottles rolled at his side as he chewed his nails and spat at anyone who came close.

Phryne pushed him with her foot. He fell over.

She stood with her hands on her hips waiting for any sign he was vaguely conscious. He pushed himself up and groaned.

"Get up," she demanded. When he didn't move Paddy went to pull him up by his greasy lapels, she helped him by grabbing the grimy collar.

"Youse the little shit that took me pearls," he grunted, glaring at Paddy through an alcohol induced haze.

"They weren't your pearls," Phryne wrinkled her nose, even for Collingwood he was a mess, "they belonged to my mother and I want to know how you got them and what you did with her rings and earrings."

"Dunno who you mean," he sniffed.

"Lady wearing an aubergine suit and hat, well to do," she hummed, "two nights ago."

He shrugged and wobbled with the effort.

"Paddy," she motioned that he was to search his pockets, "if you would, please."

"Miss," he nodded and started to dig into pockets and the lining of his jacket. He pulled out bits of paper and bottle tops, a plain gold wedding band, dried fragments of bread, an empty powder packet, one pearl earring, two ladies watches, one empty wallet, a silk scarf (blue) and one penny. It looked like he was an habitual pick-pocket and what he had on him he could either pawn or sell for alcohol. The wedding band could be her mother's or even hers, they were just plain gold bands like so many worn by married women. The watches could be pawned and Phryne wondered why he hadn't done so; one was engraved on the back, she'd set Dot on that one, the other was plain, but again, one of the jewellers may recognise it.

"Miss?" Paddy disturbed her thoughts.

"Right, let's get him to the Inspector, Paddy," she wrapped the jewellery in her handkerchief and put that, with the scarf and wallet, in her handbag.

"Right you are," he saluted and grinned, wondering what his reward would be.

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The drive to the station wasn't particularly pleasant but they got there without the upholstery suffering.

"One for you, Hugh," Phryne shoved the man to the counter, "pick-pocket, I think, found one of mother's earrings and wedding ring on him and a few other bits a pieces that definitely don't belong to him. She tipped the goods onto the ledger.

"Miss," he spread the things out with his pencil, "interesting, I'll check the reports, especially for these watches."

Jack appeared at the gate and grinned.

"Paddy," he nodded in the boys direction, "Phryne."

"Hello, Jack," she smiled, "don't know if you'll get much out of him, yet, or at all ... might have to let him sleep it off first."

"Take him to the cells, Collins, see if he remembers his name," Jack opened the gate to let him through and then invited his wife and her little 'irregular' into his office.

"So, Paddy," he put his arm round his wife's waist for no other reason than he could, "been sleuthing have we?"

"Sir," he nodded.

"Well done," Jack smiled, "but it would seem he fought back."

"Yeah, well," Paddy shrugged, "I've had worse."

"You be careful, lad," Jack got serious, "some people don't care who they hurt."

"I can take care of meself," Paddy glared, "anyway, most know I know the Lady Detective, they leave me alone most of the time."

"Glad to hear it, now, as to a reward," Jack hummed, "I think ... well, what do you think, dear," he looked at his wife who he knew hated being called, 'dear' anywhere else but the bedroom.

She scowled a little, but played his game, "I think, darling," Jack went a little pink, "that Paddy deserves a slap up meal at home, and a new jumper, he's growing out of that one."

"Will that suit, Paddy?" Jack turned to the boy, who was grinning.

Paddy nodded and requested that Mrs Collins knit the jumper and he'd wait until it was finished without nagging her.

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With Paddy heading over to Wardlow Phryne put a theory to Jack.

"I don't think he," she nodded in the direction of the cells, "attacked mother. I think he saw an opportunity and took it. I think mother was attacked or lured down the lane and attacked by someone else, the robbery was a separate thing."

"And how do you come to that conclusion?" Jack pulled her onto his knee.

"He isn't capable of attacking anyone, he can barely stand. I think the only reason he hit Paddy was because Paddy was rifling through his pockets."

"And," Jack mused, "he didn't have to chase him ... but how did she get down that lane?"

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Prudence had visited Margaret and suggested she convalesce at her home. Grudgingly she also invited Henry.

"It's very kind of you, Prudence," her sister smiled, "Dr Macmillan says I can leave now. I just wish I knew why I was in Collingwood."

"Perhaps it's best you don't remember, Mags," Prudence touched her arm.

"Oh no, I must!" Margaret gasped, "it will help Jack and Phryne find out who did this, and then whoever did it won't do it again."

Prudence frowned but left the subject. They arranged that Phryne would pay for the suite and collect her belongings before driving her parents over.

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Phryne drove at the legal speed, this time. In her mind the sights and sounds might prompt the memory in her mother's mind. Margaret must have read her mind and asked that she be taken near to where she had been found.

"Oh, Margaret, are you sure?" Henry took her hand.

"Henry, you and Prudence keep trying to protect me from this, but it happened and now we need to find out why." She leant forward in the car, "Phryne, please."

Phryne just smiled a little smile and turned down towards Collingwood and the street where it had all happened.

At first Margaret just watched the people go by, remembered the time she was one of them until they passed the entry to the lane.

"Stop!" she cried, "there, that's where I met him ... bumped into him."

"Who?" Phryne stopped the car and turned round in her seat.

"Gordon, Gordon Snell."

"Gordon Snell?" Henry and Phryne chorused, "who's Gordon Snell?" Phryne added.

"He pursued me, while I was courting your father. Your grandparents would have preferred him," she patted Henry's hand, "he was wealthy, came from the right part of the city, but he was a snob. He looked down on the little people, was positively rude to servants, and there is no need for that if you want your tea served at the right temperature and strength. No, he was not for me."

"So ... what happened?"

"Oh, he was perfectly pleasant, at first. Said how delighted he was to see me, that he had heard I had risen to the nobility then asked if I had finally ditched, in his words, that dead-beat, Fisher."

"Bloody nerve," Henry muttered.

Margaret patted his arm and smiled at him, "Don't worry, dear," she laughed, "I reminded him that Baron Fisher was the reason I was now above him in the hierarchy and I would prefer him to have a little more respect. He tutted and suggested he walk me home. I told him I was quite capable of finding my way back to the Windsor without his help but he took me by the elbow anyway. I tried to fight him off, Henry, Phryne, but he was always a bully and the more I struggled the more he pushed and shoved. I don't really remember much after that, though I do remember banging my head, against a wall, I think," she paused, "he should have some bruises on his shins - I kicked him, several times. Though I suppose they will have faded by now."

Henry put his arm round her and kissed the top of her head.

"Right, well I'll drop you with Aunt P," Phryne turned round, "then I'll go and have a word with Mr Snell. Don't suppose you know where he lives, do you?"

"I expect he's still at the family pile," Margaret shrugged, "East Melbourne. I wonder why he was wandering about Collingwood at night," she mused.

Phryne had a good idea why a gentleman would be around there but she didn't voice her thoughts.

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In the shadows of night Margaret hadn't seen what Snell really looked like. She didn't see the life he had led in his face, just the cruelty she had always seen in his eyes.

Phryne had had no trouble finding his home, somewhat shabbier than she expected. She had been shown into the drawing room, with faded furniture and a space over the fireplace where a picture had once hung. No doubt if she mentioned it it would be away for cleaning. There was a burn mark on the rug where a coal had fallen out of the fire, and a mended tear in the drapes at the windows. A movement behind her announced the arrival of the owner and she turned. She saw what her mother had not seen, the toll taken by years of alcohol and drug abuse. Hollow eyes, sunken cheeks and sparse hair. His suit hung on his frame and gave the illusion of size and height. He was a big man ... once.

"Miss Fisher," he read her card, "what can I do for a Lady Detective?"

"Four words, Mr Snell," she folded her arms, "leave my mother alone."

"Your mother, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." He leered, "if she is anything like her lovely daughter ..."

"And you are never going to 'have the pleasure'," she scowled, "Baroness Fisher is quite happy with the Baron. Good day to you," and she swept out before she did something rash.

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He scowled and re read the card, that would explain the 'Honourable', Margaret's daughter by Henry bloody Fisher. He didn't expect her to have survived being left in the lane in Collingwood. Damn!

Still at least she didn't call in the police and if he was careful he would be able to finish the job. First the mother, then the daughter.

It was only chance that he came upon the Baroness in Collingwood, or rather, on the outskirts of Collingwood, he had no idea she was in town and her name had not passed through his thoughts in decades, but that chance meeting had awakened `his buried want. Not that he had ever desired Margaret when he had tried to woo her away from Henry, no, it was her inheritance he was after.

Of course he hadn't set out to murder the Baroness, just wanted the lovely pearls from her neck and the earrings, they would sell easily; the ring she wore, a lovely solitaire diamond, a gift from Henry in the good times, that would be well worth selling to the right person, but she had fought back and all he got for his troubles was bruised shins. Now he had been found out and he had to do something about it.


	11. Chapter 11

Margaret was pampered at Prudence's which was nice, comforting. She was woken with tea in the morning, allowed to laze in a bath and a breakfast tray was brought to her, before she descended the stairs to relax in the pool or lounge in the sun. Henry was gentle without being suffocating, while Prudence was a little more suffocating. She was relieved Phryne hadn't done anything rash when she met Snell and hoped that was the end of it. She declined to take it any further with the police and Jack agreed.

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"I've decided to go back with your father," Margaret poured the tea, "I think it's for the best and he has been very persuasive," she smiled.

Phryne rolled her eyes, secrets of her parent's bedroom was not something she wanted to contemplate, maybe when she and Jack reached that age she would reconsider.

They decided, or rather Margaret did, that a short shopping expedition was needed, just the two of them, and perhaps lunch.

"And of course dinner before you leave," Phryne laughed, "so you can see the children."

"That would be lovely," she smiled.

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The only things they bought were for the babies, clothes; Margaret chose soft toys for them and a book each for Jem and Jane, and she stopped Phryne buying too much as, she pointed out, they have a tendency to grow rather quickly.

They did quite a bit of window shopping just enjoying each other's company for a change and giggled like schoolgirls at some of the things they saw. Lunch was to be had at Wardlow due to the needs of the twins so they loaded their last packages into the Hispano and got ready to head back. As Phryne turned to open her door her mother spotted a penny on the ground and bent to pick it up, for luck - and it was lucky, for just at that moment a car roared by; there was a loud crack and Phryne shrieked in surprise as a sharp pain hit across her shoulder blades.

"Phryne?" Margaret looked at her, "what ... your back!"

There was a line of red appearing through the fine silk of her lightweight jacket and she was leaning on the car door breathing heavily with shock.

"She's been shot!" somebody shouted, "did you see it, the car?"

"Went thataway!" someone else shouted and pointed down the road.

Phryne slowly turned her head left and right and tried to work out what had happened; the loud crack must have been the gunshot, someone driving by, a deliberate attempt, but on who? She had just turned, her mother had bent over so ... the Baroness, that was the target, if they hadn't both changed position in that split second she would have been shot. Phryne looked down the line of sight, the path that the bullet must have taken but could see no damage to anything close by. She experimented wriggling her shoulders, it was agony and something slid down her sleeve and tinkled on the road. Margaret had been watching her and looked down.

"Phryne," she murmured, bending to pick it up, "let's get you home, speak to Jack and perhaps Dr Macmillan will come and tend to your wound. She touched her elbow, "can you drive?"

"Yes, but wait a moment," she turned to the crowd around her and raised her voice above the hubbub, "did anyone see the car, what colour, what make?"

"Black!"

"No dark blue!"

"Black, definitely!"

"A Lagonda," a young lad called out. Phryne looked at him, "I collect cards of cars," he nodded, "sure it's a Lagonda, not many of them in Melbourne."

"I don't expect there are," she agreed, "now where would one get a Lagonda serviced?"

The lad shrugged, but she thought she knew a couple of likely chaps that would know the answer to that question.

"Phryne, darling," Margaret cut it, "let's get you home, we can go from there, and if there is a madman trying to shoot you ..."

Phryne didn't want to point out she thought her mother was the target and got gingerly into the car. The drive was agony but her mother didn't drive so she had no choice. Margaret noticed she was pale and perspiring when they finally pulled up outside the house. She was out of the car before Phryne registered it and up the path calling for Dot and Mr Butler.

"Baroness?" Dot gasped, "what is it?" She stepped aside to let her into the hall.

"Phryne's been shot, we need Dr Macmillan and Jack," she puffed.

"Shot?!" Dot started to run out to the car, "Miss Fisher!"

Phryne was just out of the car and wincing when Dot got to her.

"Just a graze, Dot," she half smiled, "across my shoulders, stings a bit."

"Oh Miss," Dot carefully put her arm round her waist, "let's get you inside and call Dr Mac."

"Uh uh," Phryne swallowed, "good idea."

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Up in her bedroom Dot and Margaret soaked the jacket and blouse to loosen it from the 'graze'. Phryne buried her face in the pillows and muffled her screams as the fabric was gently lifted off her. As Dot bathed the bloody scar which ran from the top of her left shoulder down to the bottom of her right shoulder blade Margaret stroked her hair and murmured soothing words. The graze was quite deep but Dot didn't think Mac would stitch it. There would likely be a scar but if Mrs Fisher Robinson wanted to wear a low backed dress she was sure she could disguise it with either make-up or a fine chiffon insert. That was by the by, now she had to help make her mistress comfortable until the doctor arrived to dress the wound.

The door was flung open to reveal a pale and flustered Inspector and a slightly calmer doctor.

"Phryne!" he was by her side in two strides.

"Hello Jack," she tried her usual cheerful greeting but there was a gasp at the end as she moved to see him, "ouch!"

"What happened?"

"Drive by," she gasped, "think whoever it was was after mother, she was picking up a penny from the pavement and I had turned, otherwise ..." she shuddered and winced again.

"Are you sure it was your mother they were after?" He held her hand while Mac started to look at the wound.

"She had just - ouch - bent down to pick up something ..."

"A penny, for luck," Margaret supplied.

"I turned, if I hadn't the bullet would have hit her ..." Phryne hiccupped, "oh Jack ..."

"Sh," he soothed, "we'll find whoever it was, we just need to think who you have upset, Baroness."

"Only Snell," Margaret sniffed, "but he's the most insufferable coward, always was. There's no one I know here, not now."

"Shooting at two women is the act of a coward," Jack decided, "what did you say to him, Phryne, when you saw him?"

"Just that the Baroness is perfectly happy with the Baron - ouch! Mac! - and he was never going to 'have the pleasure'."

"Lie still, Phryne," Mac hissed, "you are the worst patient ..."

"Huh!"

"Do you think he knows he failed?" Margaret asked while various scenarios ran through her head, such as if he came after them or caught Phryne out with the babies.

"Well, the witness statements, such as they are," Jack sighed, "say he just drove by, fired and drove off. I doubt he knows who or what he hit."

"So not a serious attempt?"

"Baroness," he stared at her, "I'm sure it was a serious thought, though there was a lack of such in his plan. If you are planning to go back to Mrs Stanley's home today I shall have a police car drive you over. I should like you to stay there for now, and Phryne, I want you to stay in the house."

"Jack!"

"With the bullet graze, love, firing straight will not be easy and there is the rest of the household to consider, not least the twins." He frowned at her, "just for a couple of days - please."

She shrugged and winced and resigned herself to knowing Jack was right.

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Gordon Snell poured himself a measure of the harsh cut price whisky and prepared to scan the paper. It should be on the front page, the gunning down of a Baroness out with her daughter, but there was nothing. He turned the pages with ever increasing urgency without finding a report of the deaths. There was a tiny sideline of a drive by shooting in which no one was hurt though bystanders were shocked. Jack had deliberately asked that his wife's injury be kept out of the press, and in return he would furnish them with the full story when it was all cleared up.

He swallowed the harsh liquid, surely he didn't miss, did he? He had to find out for sure. But how?

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Prudence was horrified that someone had shot at her sister and niece, and was all prepared to go and give Snell a piece of her mind. She remembered him and had indeed sent him off with a flea in his ear when, rejected by Margaret, he had tried his hand with her.

Henry was apoplectic! He was all for going over and beating the living daylights out of him.

"Now, Henry," Margaret soothed, "there's no need for that, Jack will see to it and Phryne will recover. If anyone is going to speak to him it will be me, and only when Jack has him locked up in the cells."

He wrapped his arms round his wife and held her tight, the thought he could have lost her made his blood run cold.

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Phryne sent the Red Raggers round the garages to find the one that serviced a black or dark blue Lagonda and check out the ownership. There were two but the only Lagonda they had on their books at the time belonged to Gordon Snell. Apparently he had a habit of driving it into walls, or other cars, or anything that got in the way.

"Think he drives blind," the head mechanic spat into the dust.

"Or blind drunk," his mate added his saliva to the ground.

"Yer," the other agreed.

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With Phryne and Margaret both confined to the houses Snell wasn't able to find out what had happened. So far the police hadn't come a-knocking so he thought he was safe.

He drove out into the city, past the place he had shot at the two women, narrowly missed a child and it's mother who he shook his fist at and headed out to Mrs Stanley's residence to see if there was anything he could see that would set his mind at rest. He pulled up at the end of the drive and squinted in the sun towards the house. There was not a lot he could see: a gardener, and a car exiting the gates. The car was a police car so he quickly drove away.

"Sir?" Hugh pointed to the car, "is that a Lagonda?"

"Could be, let's have a look, shall we?" Jack put the car into gear and followed at a discreet distance.

"Blimey!" Hugh gasped as the car rounded a corner at speed, mounted the kerb and wavered before continuing on its erratic journey.

"Quite," Jack agreed, "I'd like to pull him over, careless driving, that's if we can catch him safely."

They tried to get closer but every time they sped up so did the Lagonda until Jack decided that keeping their distance was safer for all. It finally turned between two gates, scraping the left front wing on the gatepost, and roared up the drive.

"Snell's place, if what Phryne told me is correct." Jack hummed and thought.

"Do we follow him?"

"I think a little chat with our wild driver is called for, even if it is just about his driving," Jack agreed, turned into the drive, missing the gatepost, and pulled up next to the Lagonda. They had seen the driver run into the house and slam the door which was no surprise, what was a surprise was the shower of gravel as a bullet slammed into the dirt next to the passenger side of the car. Hugh jumped and yelped.

"Hm," Jack sighed coolly, "firing a pistol at a police car, another charge." He reached over and retrieved his police issue revolver from the glove box. "Keep your head down, Collins," he opened the door and crouched low. Another shot, this time on Jack's side, left a hole in the car door. "Damaging police property," Jack muttered. "Assuming that's a revolver, Collins," he called softly over the seats, "then he has four shots left. Let's help him waste them, eh?" He put his hat on the end of his gun and raised it just enough to show through the steering wheel; another shot shattered the windscreen. "Three."

On his side of the car Hugh was mulling over his next move, and lifted his helmet to scratch his head. A bullet shot it clean off. Hugh yelped in surprise, "Two," Jack counted. He paused, then ran at some speed behind the Lagonda, "CRACK!" and one of the headlights was gone. "One," Jack smirked.

Inside the car, Hugh let the handbrake off and rolled the car back a fraction, "CLANG!" a bullet hit the grill. "Out of ammunition, Hugh!" Jack stood up, pointed his weapon and advanced at a run towards the house. "Police! Put the gun down!" he yelled, "NOW!"

Hugh pulled on the handbrake and was inches behind his boss. They crashed through the front door and turned to the left of the hallway, to the room where the shots had come from.

"Hands up!" Jack shouted, "on your knees!"

A figure dropped to the floor, hands raised as asked and Hugh ran over and kicked the now empty service issue revolver out of his way. He pulled his hands down behind his back and slapped on the handcuffs, feeling rather smug, even if he hadn't fired any shots. He hauled the man up by his arm and shoved him forward. Jack flicked a light switch but nothing happened, either a bulb had blown or the power had been cut off. The man was no taller than Hugh so he couldn't be Snell, from what Phryne had described, he was tall and angular, this person was smaller and stocky.

"What's your name?" Jack asked.

"Snell, Gordon Snell, what's it to you?"

"Well, you shot at us, six times," Jack answered conversationally, "and if you are Gordon Snell you shot at Baroness Fisher and Mrs Fisher-Robinson, her daughter, and attacked the Baroness last week ago near a lane in Collingwood, that's what it is to me, Detective Inspector Robinson, City South." He smiled sarcastically.

"Proof?" the man purporting to be Gordon Snell raised his eyebrows.

"The Baroness identified Snell as the man that attacked her, your Lagonda was seen to drive past her and her daughter when they were shot at, and as for the six shots at us - well - the gun," Jack lifted the empty revolver with his handkerchief, "the empty chamber and the six bullets we will find in the bodywork of both cars and on the drive." Jack paused, "and we were there."

The man wriggled in Hugh's grasp, Hugh just tightened his fingers round his arms.

Even though Jack was sure, absolutely sure, that this was not Snell he decided they could play their little game, if it was such a thing.

"Right, Senior Constable," he waved in the direction of the door with his gun, "perhaps we should have a little chat with Mr Snell down at the station, eh?"

"Oh yes, Sir," Hugh grinned, instantly understanding for once, "the interview room is most cosy."

Jack hid his smirk as he put on his hat, now with a hole through it. Phryne would not be happy, it was the one she bought him after the Maiden Creek case. "Lead on, Constable," he shrugged.

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Gordon Snell watched everything from an upstairs window, biting his fingernails and scowling. He had charged into the house yelling that "They're after me!" and fled up the stairs. His butler was used to someone trying to see him to his grave and usually found a couple of shots to the drive saw them hurry away, but this time it didn't work, now he knew why. Snell wondered how long it would be before the butler broke and admitted he wasn't who he said he was.

He didn't have to wait long.

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Down at City South station, Jack had put in a call to Wardlow and asked Mr Butler if he would kindly drive Phryne down to the identify the man they currently held, claiming to be Gordon Snell.

Phryne was still sore and walked uncomfortably as every time her shoulders moved they ached.

"Sorry, Mrs Fisher-Robinson," Jack greeted her formally, "but this person claims to be Gordon Snell, and before we question him further we wondered if you could confirm this."

"Of course, Inspector," she smiled graciously, "anything to help."

He took her to the cell and showed her the occupant.

"That's his butler," she huffed, "Snell is taller, has little hair and is more angular, I think I mentioned that, in my original statement?"

"Indeed you did," Jack smiled, "thank you for coming down."

"You're most welcome, Inspector, anytime."

He saw Phryne out of the station with a soft kiss to her cheek and went to see if he could find out why this man would claim to be Gordon Snell, apart from a misguided sense of loyalty.

In the interview room the man, who gave his name as Rogers, said he didn't know they were the police until they ran at the door.

"Boss gets a lot of men trying to do him in," he sniffed, "a couple of shots usually see him off, we've never had the police come."

"Has the boss ever tried to kill someone, before?" Jack tapped his pen thoughtfully on the table. "Like a Baroness or her daughter?"

"Not that I know of," Rogers shrugged, "he had a caller the other day, a Lady Detective, he wasn't in a good mood when she left. Wasn't that the woman that just came to see me?"

"It was indeed," Jack admitted, "I just wanted confirmation of your identity before I spoke to you. About a week ago did he come home in the small hours with some bruising and perhaps tearing of his clothes?"

"Some blood on one of his sleeves," Rogers was beginning to wonder if he could find another position, things were getting sticky with Snell and he didn't pay the going rate.

"I see, did he give a reason for the blood?"

Rogers shook his head, "I only found it when I went to put some laundry away, I'm the only staff he has. The jacket was shoved into the back of the wardrobe."

"Did you say anything, or did he?"

"Not likely," he huffed, "he don't pay much but it is a job."

"The gun you used?"

"His, I don't own one."

Jack believed him and also wondered how long he would stay with Snell.

He needn't have bothered. After they let him go with a charge of damaging police property for which he would have to pay the repair bill, Snell threw him out for breaking the headlight on his Lagonda. Rogers thought it was a bloody cheek, and told him so.

"It's only a headlight, not the wing that you've caved in on the gatepost, again," he picked up his belongings, "you're a liability behind the wheel god knows how you haven't killed someone yet!" He stormed off down the drive and wondered if his unmarried sister, who lived in Bendigo, would mind if he stayed indefinitely. He usually spent a week there, once a year; the only break he got.

Snell retreated to his shabby drawing room and emptied the decanter of the cheap whisky down his throat. Those Fisher women were too smart for their own good.

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"So, Sir," Hugh stood in the doorway, "back to Snells?"

"We need evidence he shot at Phryne and her mother. Do you have to gun from the house?"

"Sir," Hugh nodded, "just about to log it as evidence."

"Right get it and this," Jack dropped a bullet onto his desk, "to the lab, for matching; the bullet came out of Phryne's sleeve."

Hugh raised his eyebrows but declined to comment.

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The bullet and gun were marked 'urgent' so the lab took no time in checking the rifling marks and found a definite match.

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"Apart from the rifling," Jack read, "there is a nick in the top of the bullet made by the hammer due to a slight fault in the manufacture."

Hugh just waited for the Inspector to tell him to bring a car round.

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The hammering on the door woke Snell from his drunken daze. The whisky he had consumed seemed to have gone straight to his head without bothering to go via his stomach. He stood up quickly and had to grab hold of a chair to stop the room swirling round.

Jack and Hugh hadn't waited for the door to open, the knock was just to alert the occupant to their presence. They were beside him before he had registered they were in the room.

"Inspector Jack Robinson," Jack held up his warrant card, "Gordon Snell, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Baroness Margaret Fisher and Mrs Phryne Fisher-Robinson - handcuffs, Collins."

"Sir," Hugh pulled Snell's hands behind his back and fastened the cuffs firmly.

Snell's mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a reply, any reply, but nothing came out.

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"What did he have to say?" Phryne asked as they sat in the parlour that evening, dinner over and the children safely tucked up in bed.

"We're going to wait until he sobers up," Jack sipped the smooth, single malt whisky, "you could smell the alcohol coming out of his skin and he could barely stand upright."

"May I be present?" she fluttered her eyelashes, though there were easier ways to persuade Jack to her way of thinking.

He wasn't surprised she wanted to be there, and it would perhaps help if she heard his reasons from his mouth and not second hand. He sighed, though, just to make a point.

"Poor Inspector," she purred and brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead, "are you so very tired?"

"It's been a day, Miss Fisher," he hummed, "shot at six times ... "

"Is there anything I can do?" she shifted over his lap and pressed her forehead to his.

He stared into her eyes and slid his hands up her thighs, over her hips and brought them to rest on her waist.

She shifted her head and kissed him gently; just a peck on the lips, really, but, as usual, it lighted a flame in his heart and a stirring in his loins.

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Jack woke to the feeling that the bed was a little overcrowded. He and Phryne had retired to bed shortly after she asked if there was anything she could do to soothe him. She had ravished him thoroughly: lay him down in the bed and peppered his body with little kisses, her hands had roamed all over his body until she had lifted over him and buried him in her warm, wet warmth and rode him until they both shattered. They had fallen asleep shortly after, her draped over him like a warm silken blanket, but it wasn't her lithe body over his now, it was something much smaller, something was pulling at his bottom lip and Phryne giggled softly. He turned his head and opened one eye to find Tommy was the one examining his face and Hope at her mother's breast.

"Mornin' lover," she whispered.

"Morning," he mumbled back, "I see we have company."

"You've usually left when this happens," she nodded at the clock, "I thought I'd let you sleep on a little."

"Most kind of you," he shifted up the bed, taking his son with him, "so I've overslept?"

"Mm," she hummed, "not much, though, and you are always in early. What's half an hour?" She finished feeding Hope and closed her robe over.

It was so tempting to stay a little longer, with his wife and children but Jack knew he had to go and interview Snell and deal with all that entailed, the paperwork, the charging ...

"Would you like ten minutes with the babies while I shower?" she offered him the baby she was holding, "after all you did say I could come with you."

He thought for a moment then decided that, on balance, he could allow her this. He could drive her over to the station, they could do the interview and he could perhaps have Mr Butler collect her afterwards. And it would be nice to spend this little time with the twins, he'd barely seen them lately.

"Alright," he held out his arms for Hope and she slid out of the bed.

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When she came out of the en suite, a towel wrapped round her, he was being probed by his children and laughing as they each tried putting fingers in his mouth and poking his eyes. Tommy was sitting on his chest and Hope lay on her front on the pillow next to his head.

"Your turn," she smiled.

"Awh," Jack pouted, "five more minutes, pleease!"

She laughed and waved her finger, "Come on Inspector." She lifted Hope and then scooped Tommy into her arms and took them into the nursery for Nanny to see to their baths and to dress them for the day.

When Jack came out of the bathroom Phryne was dressed and applying her make-up. She had chosen a smart blouse and skirt in a plum colour, which he knew had a matching jacket. When she saw Snell she would look beautiful (not that she ever looked anything else) elegant, accomplished and business-like.

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Phryne thought that, although her father was no saint and had a tendency to fritter money away he was a much better man than the one that sat before her. From his current appearance; shabby, unshaven, shrunken, she surmised that Gordon Snell would have dragged her mother down to Collingwood quicker than Henry had done. She stood in the corner of the room while Jack started on the interview.

At first, Snell insisted he hadn't meant to hurt Margaret just escort her back to the hotel, but she wouldn't let him.

"So why didn't you leave it at that?" Jack asked, writing in the file.

"I couldn't leave a lady there, it's dangerous," he huffed.

"She wasn't actually in Collingwood, though, it was you that posed the danger." Jack pointed out.

"That dead beat she's married to ..."

"Baron Henry Fisher of Richmond?" Phryne stepped forward, "my father, you mean?"

" ... he wouldn't care."

"You know nothing of their marriage, or who he is," Phryne sniffed, "and from what I see here we got the better man."

"So you tried to force her to accompany you," Jack continued, trying to get the questioning back to the original line.

Snell didn't answer.

"When she resisted you grabbed her, pushed her hard enough to bang her head against a wall and knocked her out," Jack continued, referring to the medical report.

"She fought back though, didn't she?" Phryne added.

Snell unconsciously rubbed his shin at the memory.

"You dumped her in the lane to cover your tracks, make it seem like she was attacked in Collingwood, possibly for her jewellery ..." Jack added.

"Then you came calling," Snell looked up at Phryne, "and I knew she had survived, but ... she must have remembered everything and I couldn't have that, couldn't have her sending the police round."

"She didn't, I just wanted you to know that you should leave her alone," Phryne folded her arms, "if you had done that there would have been no need to try and gun us both down, we'd have been quite happy to let you drink yourself to death; though I might have had the Inspector take away your driving licence and your car."

"She told," he grunted, "you," he nodded at Jack, "how was I to know she wasn't going to send the cops round?"

"If she was going to do that they would have arrived before me," Phryne leant on the table, "you would have been locked up and charged with assault, now it's attempted murder." Phryne thought they were going round in circles, but the bottom line, she thought, was that Snell was still angry that her mother had chosen Henry Fisher over him and he had lost out on a goldmine. Regardless of Henry's failings as a husband and father, he did at least love her mother and not the money she had brought into the marriage. He may have squandered it, he may have beaten her as a child - she still had a hard time forgiving him for that - but out of the two contenders Henry was the better man.

Snell was taken back to the cells and Jack turned his attention to his wife.

"So, paperwork," he shrugged, "then it's all done. We'll send him for trial, probably get a prison sentence - a long one - he won't trouble you or your mother again."

"Good," she smiled, "I wanted to take the twins for a walk along the esplanade, we all need some fresh air."

"You do that," he grinned and kissed her cheek, "if I get this done quick enough I might join you."

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Mr Butler was sent for and duly arrived to drive his mistress home.

"All sorted, Mr B," she tripped cheerfully out of the station, "take me home, please, we shall go for a walk this afternoon and perhaps have an ice cream on the foreshore."

"Miss," he opened the door, "lunch will be ready when you are."

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Phryne phoned her mother to let her know that Snell was off the streets and she could come and go as she pleased.

"I'm so glad, Phryne, dear," Margaret breathed a sigh of relief, "your father was all for knocking him down, but I told him you and Jack would sort it out."

Phryne was not at all surprised her father had heroic intentions but rather glad he didn't have the opportunity to carry them out. She finished the call by inviting her parents and aunt for dinner the following night.

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"I'll write as soon as we are settled," Margaret hugged her daughter and kissed her grandson. She did the same to Jack and Hope and Henry shook his hand.

"Phryne," Henry stood in front of his daughter, "thank you, for everything. For looking after your mother, for listening to me and understanding - and for these little ones. For bringing Jem into our lives, he is a wonderful boy and I know I have been a dreadful father to you, to Janey and to Mary Susan ..."

"Just do the best you can, father," she smiled, "look after mother, make a new Fisher estate, a new future for the family."

"How the hell I managed to have such a wonderful daughter I have no idea, but I'm ruddy glad I do. I don't deserve you," he kissed her cheek, "I will do it, Phryne for you, for your mother and for Jem and these two."

They watched the Baron and Baroness head up the gangplank and onto the liner; and just to make sure they did leave, waited until the ship left the shore and was too far out for them to get off again.

"One can never tell with father," Phryne hummed as she settled the babies into the car.

"Indeed," Jack smiled and slid into the driver's seat, she usually let him drive if the children were in the car.


	12. Chapter 12

The twins continued to thrive, meeting all the right goals at the right time, even Hope, though she was noticeably smaller than her brother. Phryne had had the back parlour turned into a playroom of sorts, where they could have their toys out during the day and Nanny could continue to oversee their explorations. If the weather was fine they played in the small garden or were taken out to the gardens or the foreshore.

In the evenings, when their parents were home they were allowed into the parlour to be read to and cuddled. Jack would play nursery tunes on the piano and when Hope was just over two years old she made her first exploration of the keys. She toddled over to the instrument and stood next to Jack, reaching up to press a key and hear the note. She couldn't quite strike it enough and a look of puzzlement came over her pretty little face. Jack smiled and lifted her onto his knee where she could follow his fingers and 'help' him play. Tommy wanted to join in and stood on the other side, banging down on the keys and whooping at the noise he made. Hope glared at him and Jack gently removed his hands.

"Now, Tommy, son," he soothed, "that's not how we play the piano."

"Perhaps the drums for him, Jack," Phryne smiled from the couch.

Jack just grunted and hauled the child onto the bench next to him. "Sit still or you'll fall off," he warned.

Tommy pouted and bashed down again.

"Tommy, no," Jack warned.

But Tommy did do it again and was unceremoniously dumped back onto the floor. Jack turned back to playing the piano with Hope and wondered if she had inherited his musical genes. It would be nice if she had.

"Pay song, dada," she wriggled against his knee, "pease."

He played the song that had become their lullaby - "Let's Misbehave" - and Phryne hummed along. It was the one song that would quiet their son so at least he didn't come back to the instrument and pound on the keys again.

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"Do you think she's too young to have piano lessons?" Phryne mused the following morning, as they headed out of the house, him to City South and her to call on a new client.

"Way too young," he scoffed, "she needs to be at least six, I can teach her the basics, if she wants to do it."

"I bow to your superior judgement," she laughed.

"Ha, I thought that would never happen!"

"It's only piano lessons, Jack," she pouted.

"You said 'superior judgement'," he nudged her, "I'll take that on any subject."

"And Tommy, what does he get?"

"Cycling? Shooting ...?"

"Cycling," she interrupted, "not shooting, not until he's at least ... er ... eighteen?"

"Done," he kissed her cheek and handed her into the Hispano. "See you later."

The children, standing either side of their Nanny, watched them go; young as they were they were now used to this, to them not being there all day. They would now head to the playroom before they went out for a walk. Nanny thought the foreshore today, perhaps Mr Butler would put up a small picnic for them as he had done many times before.

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Phryne's latest request was from a man quite some distance from her home. The client had been vague, his wife had disappeared and as she had not taken anything with her he thought she may have been kidnapped. The Lady Detective drove out musing on the lack of a ransom, so far, any threats to either of their lives or any worrisome behaviours of the wife.

The house was large, well appointed, with neatly kept gardens and a straight path up to the front door in strong cherry red. She was admitted by a butler and left to wait in the drawing room. She looked around, observed the photographs of a happy couple in wedding clothes. The man was not as young as he could have been, perhaps mid thirties, she looked to be in her twenties and they seemed to be happy. Looking round she could see no pictures of children, the only other being in a photograph was a dog, an elegant afghan hound. So far none of her children had asked for a dog, or a cat and she wasn't sure what her feelings on this would be, come the time. It would teach them responsibility, unless it became another job for Mr B. There again, Dot seemed to be allergic to dogs so ... perhaps not. Her musings were disturbed by a polite cough and she turned to see the man in the photograph standing there. He was younger than his wedding photograph showed, tall, sandy haired, elegant.

"Miss Fisher," he advanced holding out his hand.

"Mr Hayes," she smiled and took his hand. He lifted hers and kissed the back of it. "How can I help you?"

"Find my Rosa-May, Miss Fisher, please," he asked simply. "It's not like her to wander off without saying anything."

"Tell me about her," Phryne smiled, "where she likes to go, does she have any regular functions ... that sort of thing, and why you think she may have been kidnapped."

He invited her to sit and told her how his wife appeared to have left the house very early but had not said she had any appointments that day. He bumbled on about how she sat on the board of a couple of small schools, that they were waiting for the day they would be blessed with a child ...

"Do you have children?"

"Yes," she nodded, but didn't add any details.

"Lovely," he hummed, "I wondered if she had gone to see her sister, but no ... apparently not. Miss fisher, it's just not like her."

"Has she been distracted of late, you see, Mr Hayes it's only been a couple of hours?"

"I know my wife, Miss Fisher," he stood up and went to stare out of the window, "she just wouldn't go out without saying where she was going."

"Have there been any threats against her, or you, lately?"

"No, but I just know this isn't right," he turned and she thought she saw something other than desperate love, there was almost fear, but what of? Of her being found dead, of her having left him? Something didn't add up.

She left with a list of the places Rosa May Hayes frequented and a photograph. Ordinarily this wouldn't be a case she would find taxing, the woman would be taking tea with a friend, or shopping for a surprise gift for her husband and it would all be quite silly - in the end.

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"A picnic on the foreshore will be perfect, Mr Butler," Nanny fastened the two children into the stroller and took the basket. She planned to let them play in the sand before eating on the blanket. She had a flannel and a thermos of warm water to wipe their hands and faces and would bring them back before their parents returned from whatever cases had occupied them that day.

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Nanny never let the children out of her sight but let them roam free. They weren't allowed to go to the water's edge so the moats round their inexpertly built sandcastles were dry; no matter, they were quite content.

"Doggy!" Hope squealed, pointing and jumping up and down in excitement.

"Yes, dear," Nanny restrained her gently, "but you should never go near dogs you don't know."

Hope pouted, her father said she could out-pout her mother, but the owner smiled and walked a little closer. The dog was a perfectly groomed Afghan hound.

"He's very gentle," she hummed, "if your little girl would like to stroke him."

"I'm the Nanny," Nanny frowned, holding both children back as she knew Tommy was likely to pull the fur rather than stroke it.

"Oh," the lady shrugged, "well, all the same ..."

Nanny sighed but held Hope's hand so she could touch the animal then did the same for Tommy.

"What do you say, children?" Nanny looked from one to the other.

"Tank you," Hope lisped.

"Ta," Tommy lunged forward again.

"Oh no you don't, young man," Nanny grabbed his shorts and pulled him back.

Tommy blew a raspberry and sat down in a huff.

They watched the woman stroll away, occasionally allowing other children to pet her dog then returned to digging in the sand.

They had their picnic and were allowed to play a little longer before Nanny decided it was time to get her sandy charges home and cleaned up for their parents. She let them dig in the sand while she folded up the blanket and put it and the basket under the stroller, then she turned round for the children.

"Come on, Tommy," she lifted him up, "Hope ... Hope ... Hope!"

"Doggy," Tommy wriggled.

"Not the dog, Tommy, oh my god, where's Hope?" She looked around frantically, called her name louder and louder, attracting the attention of the rest of the beach goers.

"Miss?" A police officer ran up, alerted by the disturbance and the crowd of people around the distraught woman and child. "What's wrong?"

"Hope, his twin," she nodded at the wriggling boy in her arms, "she's disappeared!"

"Doggy!" Tommy yelled.

"Forget the dog, Tommy," she snapped, "we're looking for your sister." She turned back to the constable, "she's smaller than this one, dark curls, big blue eyes, wearing a pale blue dress embroidered with daisies."

The constable wrote all this down. "Name?"

"Hope Fisher-Robinson, she's Inspector Robinson's daughter."

"Bloody hell," the officer cursed under his breath, of all missing kiddies he had to get this one.

The crowd had been listening. "Right," one woman with an older child moved to stand by Nanny, "spread out, you heard what she looks like, let's find her."

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Hope wriggled in Rosa May Hayes' arms. "Mumma," she sniffed.

"I'm going to be your Mumma, now, dear," Mrs Hayes smiled, "your other Mumma has that big boy, I'll have you."

She had chosen Hope for her size and pretty face. She hadn't thought about her mother, only that she had two children and she didn't have one. Perhaps her husband would prefer a son but this child was so sweet he would fall in love with her and stop harping on about her failure to produce a child.

Hope grizzled, she was tired, it had been a busy day and she wanted her Mumma, her real Mumma who would sing to her and cuddle her, and Dada would play a song for her.

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By the time Phryne had been found and told, and Jack had sent as many of his officers out scouring the streets of Melbourne as he could, Nanny was practically hysterical, which was no use to anyone, least of all the worried mother, and Tommy had been sent to play with Dot's son, so much younger but Dot was a bear when it came to her boy and would be to Tommy, too.

Three times they made Nanny go over the day on the foreshore, making notes while Phryne paced the floor. She had been all for driving round the city until Jack took the car keys off her.

"That won't work," he wrapped his arms round her, "you know she'll be in someone's house by now, and we can't knock on every house in the city. Hugh and the others are interviewing the rest of the people who were out today, who may have seen something, that may give us a lead."

"Jack, she's so small, we nearly lost her once, I won't let that happen again," she sniffed and ground her teeth.

"We'll find her, love, I promise," he soothed; 'if it kills me,' he added in his head.

Hugh arrived late in the evening, with all the interview notes. He swallowed a sandwich and tea while pointing out similarities and differences.

"There's just one constant," he mumbled through a mouthful of cake, "everyone says there was a woman with a dog, long haired thing, that was allowing children to pet it."

"Nanny!" Phryne screamed up the stairs, she was too cross and worried to care how it sounded, "dog!"

"Not the dog thing again," Nanny appeared at the top of the stairs and huffed, "Tommy kept going on about it, Afghan I think, being paraded around like a show pony."

"Long haired," Jack picked up a statement, "allowing children to pet it ... Tommy ..."

"Tommy was telling you that Hope was gone with the dog," Phryne turned to the woman, "Tommy knew."

"But Tommy is too young to give a proper account," Jack took the car keys out of his pocket.

"The Hayes have an Afghan, it was in the photograph of Mrs Hayes," Phryne pulled out the reference picture, "this."

She showed the picture.

"That's the woman," Nanny took it and stared at it, "and the damn dog."

"Jack ..."

"Come on, let's get our baby back," he passed her her coat and hat and they ran out of the door.

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"Tell me about Mr Hayes," Jack opted to drive, not wanting to leave his children orphans.

"He was worried, but there was something about him. He seemed scared, in a way I wouldn't associate with a missing wife. More that he was going to be found out for something. There were no pictures of children but I don't know how long they have been married. I thought maybe I would find his wife dead somewhere, or with another man."

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"There are lots of unwanted children out there," Rosa May smiled down at the exhausted and sleeping little girl, "I thought ..." she looked up at her husband.

When she had arrived home with Hope in her arms he had been astounded but he had accepted her story of finding the little girl alone on the foreshore.

"I know you would like a son," she continued, "perhaps, one day ... or we could adopt one?"

"Rosa May ..."

"We can give her a good home, dearest," she continued, desperate to have him agree, "I shall call her Daisy, I think, yes?"

"Er, I suppose so," he blinked.

She watched him leave the room hoping that at least for a while, he would stop hitting her and pinching her when she reported that she was not yet pregnant. After all, one could never be sure if you were to have a boy or a girl.

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Phryne was out of the car and pounding on the front door before the engine had come to a full stop.

"Phryne!" Jack ran to her, "stop, this is not the way."

The door was opened by the same butler that she had seen that morning.

"Where's my daughter?" she ran past him, "where is she?!"

"Phryne!"

"Miss Fisher," Mr Hayes came out of the parlour, "what's going on?"

"Your wife," she glared at him, "she stole my daughter!"

"_Your_ daughter?" he blinked, "she said the child was wandering alone on the foreshore, she's called her Daisy."

"Her name is Hope, and she was with our Nanny and her twin brother," Jack could practically hear Phryne gnashing her teeth, "your wife abducted her when things were being packed up."

"But ..." he looked up the stairs to where Rosa May stood, white with fright, "Rosa May?"

She didn't answer, she couldn't. Of all the children to make off with she chose the daughter of a renowned Detective Inspector and his Lady Detective wife.

Phryne followed Mr Hayes sight line and shook off Jack's hand, running up the stairs calling her daughter's name. As she pushed past Mrs Hayes, who kept her footing by clinging to the balustrade, she could hear Hope begin to wail.

"Mumma! Mumma!" the child pulled herself up on the bars of the cot she had been placed in and rattled them, "MUMMA!"

Phryne flung open the door to see her standing there with tears coursing down her little cheeks. "Oh darling," she lifted her out of the cot and held her tight, kissing the curls and wet cheeks, soothing her with words and touches, "my sweet girl, it's alright, Mumma's here, and Dada, he's downstairs. Come on, let's go home, shall we?"

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In the hall, in front of a very confused Mr Hayes and his butler, Jack had one hand holding the kidnapper and the other ringing City South for a car and an officer to take Rosa May into custody on a charge of kidnapping.

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At the station, the young constable manning the phones heaved a sigh of relief. All the officers knew the children; Hope had a special place in their heats because of her shaky start in life, and Tommy for his boisterous nature. He called Wardlow to find Senior Constable Collins who he knew would be only too willing to take the car and collect Mrs Hayes. He thought it was sad that someone should be driven to this state and wondered why. They'd find out soon enough, he supposed.

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"It's all your fault," Rosa May spat at her husband. "If you'd only understood it takes time," she rolled up a sleeve to show the pinch marks, "if you'd been kinder."

Phryne wrapped Hope in her coat and winced at the sight of the marks, understanding now why Hope had been taken. Though she was sympathetic to the woman's plight she also knew there were plenty of children who could be adopted legally, that there was no need for this to have happened.

"Perhaps if you hadn't whined every time it didn't happen," he grunted back, "you do, you know; I can't abide a whining woman."

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Jack placed his hand in the small of Phryne's back as they watched Hugh take Mrs Hayes down to City South.

"Come on," he murmured, "let's take her home."

Hope had fallen asleep in her mother's arms.

"Inspector, Miss Fisher," Mr Hayes stopped them, "I really am sorry, she shouldn't have done this."

"No, Mr Hayes, she shouldn't," Jack sighed heavily, "but she did and I can't help visiting some of the blame on you, if what she said, and what she showed us, is true."

"Perhaps I was a little ... unkind, less understanding, but she whines, Inspector. I love her, I really do - but she whines."

Jack shrugged and escorted Phryne to the Hispano. He opened the passenger door and let her slide in, still cradling their daughter tightly.

"That's as maybe, Mr Hayes," he turned and spoke to the man, "torture is not the answer, it's obvious she was torturing herself because of her perceived failure as a wife."

Phryne nuzzled into Hope and, while the child needed bathing and possibly feeding, she was at least safe. She wondered if she should dismiss Nanny, she'd certainly have to think about her position in the house.

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They were silent on the drive home. Jack knew she was angry, but she was also still scared. Phryne cared deeply for her family, both found and biological; for someone to take her daughter from her, to spin the story that she had been wandering alone on the foreshore made him just as angry but also a little sad that this woman saw this as the only way to fulfil her need for a child.

"Perhaps you could do some warm milk for Hope, Mr Butler," Jack hummed as his hat was taken from him.

"Of course, I'm glad she has been found, safe?"

Jack nodded and removed Phryne's hat.

"Would you ask Dorothy if she could bring Tommy back ..."

"Let him stay where he is, Jack," Phryne whispered, "Dot will keep him safe and he'll be asleep, now."

"You sure?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, don't disturb him," she smiled slightly, "I'll bathe Hope and give her the milk ..."

"You know best," he kissed her softly.

Once upon a time she would have doubted this, but now she felt she really did know best.

Jane and Jem had been waiting in the parlour and rushed out when they heard them return. They both heaved sighs of relief when they saw Hope cradled in her mother's arms and ran to check she was alright.

"I'm going to bathe her ..."

"I'll run it," Jane shot upstairs.

"Anything I can do," Jem asked.

"You can come had help me with her milk, Master Jem," Mr Butler smiled kindly, "perhaps find a suitable snack for her."

"Right, yes, of course," Jem fell into step beside the older man, "perhaps one of those shortbread biscuits, the ones Mrs Collins makes ..." his voice could be heard as they headed into the kitchen.

"If Jem hasn't finished what was in the tin," Jack heard Phryne murmur.

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Phryne trickled the warm water over Hope's little body. She rarely, if ever, bathed the children that was Nanny's job, but she wanted to be sure there were no marks, no signs she had been hurt and there wasn't. She was a little sore from having spent too long in wet clothes but other than that she seemed fine. Phryne wrapped her in a soft warm towel Jane had held in front of the fire and patted her gently until she was ready to be dressed in her nightdress and a nappy she didn't usually use.

"Just in case, Miss Phryne," Jane smiled, "after such a trauma."

"Thank you, Jane," Phryne smiled, "let's hope it doesn't affect her too much."

"Hm, we shall see, perhaps she is too young for it to have an impact?"

"I can only hope."

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While Phryne sat on her bed and let Hope drink the warm milk, softly flavoured with cinnamon and sugar, and nibble the biscuit that Jem had missed, Jane went to tell Nanny that Hope had been found and was alright. The room was empty. The wardrobe and chest, on further inspection were also devoid of their usual contents; the only thing in the room was a letter addressed to Mr and Mrs Fisher-Robinson.

"That explains it," she murmured to herself, "why she didn't come into the nursery." She took the letter to Miss Phryne and waited to be informed of its contents.

"Oh," Phryne quickly read down the short missive, "she says she's sorry for what happened to Hope, that she doesn't feel she can trust herself to keep the children safe and that we shouldn't trust her, either. Hm," she mused, "I don't think that's true, really. Any of us could have been distracted, Hope could easily have wandered off so I don't blame her, not really. I might have preferred that if she was taking the children out that maybe she should have someone else with her, for now, and I was going to talk to her about the incident. Hope is safe, that's all that matters. Perhaps all the questioning we did was wrong, maybe we were too hard?"

"You were worried, Miss, and rightly so," Jane assured her, "it was not surprising you questioned her so much, and you did need all the details."

"I know, but now I'm worried about her."

"What would you have done if she'd just handed in her notice?" Jane took the empty cup off her and watched Hope nestle closer to her mother, yawn and doze off.

"I don't know," Phryne bit her lip, "I suppose I might have tried to dissuade her, but ... oh I don't really know. She's been a good Nanny, I suppose. Gentle with the children ... they seemed happy in her company ..."

"But they love you, Miss Phryne, don't they?" the question didn't need answering everyone could see how much the children adored their parents.

Phryne thought about this, still unsure after two years as to whether or not she was a good mother. Hope had been screaming for 'Mumma' when she stormed up the stairs at the Hayes' home, so maybe that answered her question.

"Still, I want to know where Nanny has gone, and that she is alright."

Jane knew that if the Nanny did something stupid, Miss Fisher would never forgive herself.

"Well, I suppose I'd better see if this one will settle ..." she stroked Hope's cheek, "though ..."

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"I'm sorry," Phryne sighed as Jack and Mr Butler finished setting the cot in the corner of the master bedroom, "I ..."

"It's no problem, Phryne," Jack slipped his arm round her, "I understand. Now, settle her down and come to bed."

She had tried to sleep but kept getting up to check that Hope was still in her cot, until Jack and gone to wake Mr Butler and ask him to help him manhandle the cot into their room - just for the one night. At least that's what he hoped.

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The next few days for Phryne were spent with the children while Jack's officers went out to try and find Nanny. They had been supplied with a photograph of her with the children and headed out to the train and bus stations, boarding houses and small hotels.

There were a few possible sightings: buying a ticket to Sydney at the train station, boarding a bus to Ballarat ... any means of getting out of Melbourne.

Phryne's only recourse was to write to her parents, listed as her next of kin, explain the situation and tell them they didn't blame her. She enclosed a cheque for the next months wages and asked them to let her know if she turned up.

The reply came almost a month later. Nanny wrote and said she had found other employment that didn't require her to take charge of something as precious as someone else's children. She still apologised for losing Hope and returned the cheque saying she didn't deserve it or their kindness. She was glad that the child had been found and wondered if perhaps it was because she was the Nanny and not the parent that they had been targeted.

"I'm glad she's safe," Phryne nestled against Jack in the parlour that evening. She had put her children to bed, read them a story and satisfied herself they were sleeping before heading down for some grown-up conversation with her husband.

"Me too," he sipped a well earned whisky, "do you want another nanny?"

"I don't know. Dot said if she brought Mathew over to us she could look after them when I am on a case, but we had hoped that Nanny would look after Mathew with ours so she could come back as my right hand girl."

Jack knew that Phryne would never survive being a full time mother, though she loved her children dearly. She had been happy these past few weeks because she was still reeling from the shock of having nearly lost their daughter for the second time but she would soon become frustrated.

"We could ask my mother," he suggested, "you know, just when you join me at a crime scene. The Red Raggers could go and fetch her ... I know she'd be only too happy to spend time with her grandchildren."

"I expect the babies would quite enjoy it too," she smiled, "and they won't be spoilt, will they?"

"A little, she is their grandmother not their mother," he laughed.

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It worked, more than Jack or Phryne could have envisaged. Looking after the twins and Mathew gave Dilys Robinson a new lease of life and more than once Phryne said that she could see why Jack had turned out as good as he had.

"Oh, I'm sure his father had a lot to do with it," Dilys laughed, "but ... thank you, my dear."

At last Phryne felt settled; the children she never thought she would have were growing and safe, she had someone in her life that accepted her for who she was and didn't try to change her - life was really quite ... well ... wonderful. She silently toasted the future.

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_There will be an epilogue for this story, just to tie everything up. Thank you, everyone, for reading and leaving such comments._


	13. Chapter 13

**Epilogue:**

The applause was thunderous. The pianist stood, took a ladylike bow and looked round the auditorium. There, halfway up the stalls two people stood and applauded louder and more furiously that anyone else. The concert had gone extremely well: Beethoven, Bach, Chopin and Schumman - all had been enthusiastically received but, by far, it was her finale...

"Ladies and gentlemen," she patted down the applause before her last piece, "this piece is dedicated to my parents, who always believed in me, right from the very beginning ..." She sat down and started ... 'Let's Misbehave,' rearranged to be more like a piano sonata with twists and turns, rises and falls and cheeky little musical phrases - it was a triumph!

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"I wish Tommy was here," Phryne sat down in the dressing room and watched her daughter remove her makeup and shake out her dark curls.

"He came last night," Hope turned and smiled, "a new lady friend, who I approve of, before you ask; he was going off to train on a new fighter today. Sends his love."

Jack rolled his eyes, who would have thought that Tommy would join the RAF as soon as he was able?

"Takes after his mother," he muttered.

Phryne nudged him and laughed.

Hope stepped behind a screen to change into something suitable for dinner at the Savoy. Still small, fine boned, like a china doll, Jack said, the image of her mother, she had turned out to have more musical talent than her adoring father could have dreamed of.

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A natural from the day he started to teach her her scales and arpeggios, any piece came easy to her, even the piano teacher they engaged for her said he could barely keep up. She had rearranged what to her was a lullaby at the tender age of ten years. Jack had come home from a frustrating day at City South to find her picking out the tune, then embellishing each phrase until she had it just as she wanted it. He had stood in the hall listening until he decided he could disturb her. They played duets over the course of the evening which calmed him and cheered him and he determined that she would be supported in her music wherever she wanted to take it.

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She reappeared in a dark blue dinner dress and collected her evening bag.

"Ready?" Jack offered her his arm, and the other to his still beautiful wife.

"Ready," Hope smiled.

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Conversation revolved around the concerts; who had attended and the wonderful reviews. Hope just shrugged, "I do it because I like it and it appears to give pleasure."

She hadn't meant to make a career of her music, but she had played a small concert to raise funds for one of the Stanley benefits named after her great aunt and a talent scout had been there. He hadn't been allowed near her until her parents had done intensive background checks and then he had only been allowed if she was chaperoned. Now she travelled the world.

"I shall stop when it becomes a chore."

"If it ever does," Jack mused, "but then, if it does you won't be playing as well, will you?"

"Uh huh," she shook her head, "until then ... are you staying with Jem?" She changed the subject.

"Yes, then Tommy's going to try and have us see him fly," Phryne nodded.

"Jem wants us all to meet up at the farm," Jack reminded her, "before we go home, I'm sure he's plotting something."

"Being the detective you are darling," his wife laughed, "I'm sure you'll work it out."

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Phryne worked it out first, Jack said he wasn't surprised. It was quite obvious, really. Jem waited until Tommy had leave after showing off his flying skills and Hope had a break in her schedule before informing them all he was getting married.

"This is Annabel," he linked his arm with a pretty fair haired girl, "we met in the village, Annabel this is my family, my parents Phryne and Jack, and the twins I keep telling you about, Tommy and Hope."

"Jem has told me so much about you, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you at last." Annabel stepped forward, hand outstretched. "I've heard you play, Hope. I snuck into the concert in Bath last month."

Phryne thought she might like someone who snuck into concerts but had a week to 'investigate' further.

Jack looked her up and down, she didn't seem to be a vague girl, all fluff and giggles, like Guy's wife, Isabella. They had stopped by their town house for dinner and found Isabella hadn't changed from the time she had asked him and Hugh Collins which one wanted to investigate her. The younger Stanleys had never had children, whether by accident or design nobody knew, still leading a hedonistic existence; Prudence had never really approved and left the bulk of her estate to Phryne and the family. Guy didn't seem to hold it against her.

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Jem, like his adopted mother, did things his own way and just because he was a Baron it didn't mean he had to have a grand wedding. Instead, he and Annabel were married in the village church and held their reception at the farm, which was now more of an Estate. There was dancing and revelry until the small hours of the morning that Phryne said exhausted her. She kept going and Jack said he'd never know it was tiring for her.

"I'm getting old, Jack," she sat next to him on a bench watching everybody.

"Never, love, you will always be twenty-nine to me," turning thirty she had been rather grumpy so she was forever twenty-nine ... and a bit ... the 'bit' was her own business.

"Care to prove it," she grinned cheekily.

"Anytime you like," he pulled her up and in the direction of the house, unnoticed by the rest of the wedding guests.

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"Will you still want me when I'm a grandmother?" she turned and sighed sleepily as the dawn came up.

"Most glamorous grandmother in the world," he kissed the tip of her nose, "just take pity on an old grandfather."

"Never," she rolled him onto his back.

"As you wish, Miss Fisher ..."

The quiet tinkling of a certain melody on the piano floated up from the parlour.

"Shall we?"

"Let's."

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_Thank you for all your kind and lovely comments. This is the end of this version of Phryne and Jack. I'm sure Phryne will be a very glamorous grandmother and Jack still a ruggedly handsome grandfather but they will never age. Stay safe, everyone._


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